


Higher Places

by teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bird Castiel, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Drama, Falconer Dean, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gardener Castiel, Illustrated, M/M, Secret Identity, Shapeshifter Castiel, Shapeshifting, implied past Dean/Max, some minor one-sided Cas/Balthazar if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 14:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: No one can ever know Castiel is a shapeshifter.Not King Michael, whose hatred and prejudice are known all across the kingdom. Not Castiel’s apprentices at the royal garden or any others living in the castle. And definitely not his best friend, Dean – especially because he has already met Castiel's falcon but has no idea it’s actually him in animal form.But then the royal hunt approaches, and Castiel will have to decide whether keeping his secret is more important than the safety of those close to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS you have no idea how excited I am to finally post it!!  
>  Well the answer is: very excited. I was lucky enough to claim [gabester-sketch](https://gabester-sketch.tumblr.com/)'s wonderful art which inspired this story. You should all go and give all your love to the masterpost [here](https://gabester-sketch.tumblr.com/post/185346993086/higher-places-no-one-can-ever-know-castiel-is-a). I love it so much I honestly want to cry every time I look at it. Also considering putting it on the walls of my bedroom.
> 
> Biggest thanks, as always, to the challenge mods and my lovely beta Lauren. And, of course, to Gabby whose art made it all happen! I had so much fun writing it and I hope you'll have fun reading, too :)  
>  But first, go ADMIRE THE ART ♥♥♥

# Chapter 1

At the break of dawn, a bird swooped down from the sky and through an open window of the castle, straight into a room belonging to the household staff. The room was small and clean, furnished simply with a bed, a cupboard, and a vase full of blue flowers. It was also empty, which didn’t seem to surprise the bird at all – it hopped onto the cupboard and sank its beak into the vase, drinking from it for a moment before moving away quickly and visibly shaking itself. With a flap of its blue wings, it flew over to the bed and perched there.

Then, in a matter of seconds, it transformed: it grew, its wings and legs lengthening and changing shape, its beak and tail disappearing, the brown and blue feathers on the top of its head turning into a mop of black hair. The bird was gone and in its place on the bed sat Castiel, naked save for the plain brass ring on his finger and an expression of mild disgust on his face.

Castiel ran a hand over his mouth, shooting the vase full of flowers an annoyed look. Why he had thought it would taste good was beyond him. He dressed quickly, eager to get to the kitchens for a quick glass of fresh water and some breakfast and then out to the gardens for another day of work. They were replanting the roses today; the earlier they’d start, the sooner they’d be done.

Castiel left his room and headed down the corridor, following the sounds and the smells coming from the kitchens. It was early, but this part of the castle was already wide awake and working, doing everything in their power to be ready when the lords and the ladies woke in a few hours. The king hated when breakfast was late, and the servants knew better than to anger him first thing in the morning. 

As a master gardener, Castiel was lucky enough to receive his own bedroom here, at the castle, which also proved useful when he was needed in the most irregular hours of day and night – his knowledge of plants and herbs came in handy sometimes when Charlie, the court physician, struggled with a new potion or medicine. Castiel’s room used to belong to Joshua, who had been Castiel’s mentor for a few years before appointing Castiel as his successor and passing away. 

Living in the castle also meant he was always surrounded by people, both friends and strangers, none of whom knew about his shapeshifting ability. Keeping it a secret wasn’t particularly difficult – after all, he could control his shifting quite well – but it did require him to be more cautious. If anyone was to ever learn the truth, his life at the castle would be over – both figuratively and literally, considering the king’s vicious hatred towards shapeshifters.

Castiel reached the main kitchen area and was immediately attacked with its usual racket – cooks and scullions running around, shouting, with pots and plates full of food in their hands, other servants trying to stay out of their way and do their own job at the same time. Castiel maneuvered between people, smiling and greeting friends. He managed to snatch a fresh bun from the tray carried by one of the bakers and poured a mug of water before the kitchen’s head cook, Missouri, could catch him and smack him with a wooden spoon. 

He reached the small table on the other end of the kitchen and plopped down into one of the chairs. Two men sitting opposite of him, Jesse and Cesar, smiled and nodded at him over their breakfast. Before Castiel could take a bite of the bun, someone else joined the table.

“Castiel,” the castle steward greeted in his deep voice. 

Castiel blinked at him, then smiled. “Good morning, Bobby.”

Bobby grunted and sat down in the chair next to him. “I have yet to decide whether it’s good or not. Have you seen the state of this place? It’s in a complete disarray. How we are supposed to prepare when most of the servants are a bunch of baboons is completely beyond me.”

Castiel hid his smile behind his mug. Bobby, whose main job was making sure the entire castle ran smoothly, was rarely happy, but Castiel had known him long enough to know there was a good man behind the grumpy exterior. 

“Are you stressed about the upcoming hunt?” he asked.

“Stressed? I’m not stressed, boy. It’s all of you that should be stressed.”

Jesse and Cesar chuckled from across the table, but quieted down immediately when Bobby glared at them. 

“Speaking of,” Bobby said, turning to Castiel. “When are you going to be done with demolishing the royal gardens, huh?”

Castiel blinked, but refused to back down from the steward’s hard stare. He was a master gardener, not a mere apprentice anymore, and even though Bobby was definitely higher in hierarchy than the rest of them, he was still just a steward. Castiel could stand his ground if he wanted to.

“We haven’t started yet,” he said calmly. “And it’s not demolishing; we have to replant the roses. It’ll make them grown more—”

Bobby waved his hand. “Whatever you say. The hunt’s in five days and we need the gardens looking presentable by then. Can it be done?”

“Of course.” Castiel nodded. “If all goes well, we will be ready tomorrow at the very latest. It shouldn’t take long, there’s no need to worry.”

Bobby sent him a calculating look. “All right. I’ll hold you to your word, Castiel. While you’re at it, though, could you not make too much of a mess? The first guests will be arriving today.”

“I’ll do my best,” Castiel said. “After all, we don’t want anyone seeing any dirt or roots all over our gardens. That would be scandalous.”

Bobby raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Sometimes I miss the time when you were still Joshua’s boy,” he said dramatically. “You’re way too cheeky for your own good nowadays.”

Castiel only smiled. Bobby clearly wanted to say something else, but he noticed Jesse and Cesar still sitting at the table and laughing at them openly. With a menacing frown, he pointed at them and said, “You two better make sure the stables are clean as a whistle by the time our guests arrive! What are you still doing here? Get to work before I have a word with the constable!”

Still laughing, Jesse and Cesar scurried off, stealing a few apples on their way out of the kitchen. Bobby only sighed and looked at Castiel.

“Don’t take too long, boy,” he grunted as he stood up. “There’s hell of a lot of work to do.”

Castiel nodded and watched as the steward walked away, shouting orders at the people bustling around the kitchens. With one last sip of water, Castiel sneaked a few grapes into his pocket and left as well.

The royal gardens lay on the other side of the royal household, which meant Castiel had to make his way through corridors and courtyards full of people. He was passing the row of doors leading to the knights’ and squires’ chambers when one of them opened suddenly and out stumbled Dean, his shirt only half-buttoned and his hair in disarray.

Castiel stopped mid-step and stared at his best friend, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Dean noticed him and froze.

“Cas!” he called and grinned. The door to the room he just left slammed closed behind him and Dean had a decency to look at least mildly embarrassed. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said and raised a brow.

“Uhh.” Dean laughed under his breath and pointed to the door behind his back. “Max,” he said by way of explanation.

Castiel nodded, praying his face wouldn’t betray any of his thoughts – or at least not those thoughts he kept buried deep even from himself. It wasn’t the first time Castiel had seen Dean leave the castle early in the morning after spending the night with a chambermaid or a knight, and it wasn’t the first time those sour, envious thoughts resurfaced. But he was Dean’s friend and he swore to himself to always be supportive. It wasn’t Castiel’s business, no matter what his treacherous feelings suggested.

“I didn’t ask,” he said simply, watching a bit of colour appear on Dean’s cheeks. 

“A bunch of us were out drinking yesterday and it was late and I just didn’t feel like going back home and—” Seeing Castiel’s unimpressed look, he chuckled and shrugged. “Alright. Busted.”

“Max seems like a nice man,” Castiel said, just to say something.

Dean blushed harder. “Yeah, he is.” Max was a young knight, recently appointed by the king. He was funny, brave, and handsome, and apparently exactly Dean’s type. Castiel didn’t know him very well, but he tried to block any negative thoughts about Max. It wasn’t Dean’s fault he was so charming and friendly. Anyone could have fallen for him and Dean didn’t even have to do anything about it.

“I hope you had a good night, then,” Castiel said. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look into Dean’s eyes as he said that, so he wasn’t sure of his reaction.

“Yeah, but the thing is, I overslept,” Dean said with a laugh. When Castiel looked up at him, Dean finished buttoning his shirt.

“I’m already late, Cain’s gonna kill me if I don’t show up soon,” he complained. “Do you think I could borrow some of your shoes? I swear I’ll return them tomorrow.”

Castiel’s room was on the other side of the castle, but it was definitely closer than Dean’s house – he lived outside of the main castle walls with his younger brother Sam, in the same cottage that used to belong to their parents when they were alive. Since Dean was still Cain’s apprentice, a junior falconer, he did not have his own room at the castle… even though apparently he managed to find a way to sleep here regardless of that.

Castiel pushed the thought away and shrugged. “You know the way.”

Dean beamed at him. “You’re the best, Cas.”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond when a loud voice called from across the corridor, “Winchester!”

“Oh, crap,” Dean said. “Bobby.”

“He seems really on edge today,” Castiel warned.

“Move your ass, boy! Cain’s looking for you!” Bobby yelled.

Dean clapped a hand over Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m out of here. Don’t let him catch me!”

Castiel watched as Dean ran off in the other direction, Bobby shouting after him. Not wanting to get caught in the middle, he ducked out of the corridor and into the courtyard and headed towards the gardens, the place on his shoulder where Dean touched him still tingling warmly.

***

Castiel was up to his elbows in dirt, Jack working quietly beside him, when the chapel bells started out, marking noon. When he turned, he found his other two helpers, Kevin and Samandriel, already looking back at him with hope in their eyes. 

Castiel smiled. “Go, take a break and find something to eat. We’re making good progress.” He nodded at the boy beside him. “You too, Jack.”

“What about you?” Jack asked as he stood up and brushed off his knees. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Castiel said and waved him off. Jack joined the other two boys and together they disappeared inside the castle.

Castiel worked for a bit longer. As he said, he was happy with their work so far, and was determined to finish today or early tomorrow, if needed. For now, though, he could use a break to stretch his legs too. He left his gloves and gardening tools and lifted himself up, taking a moment to stretch and straighten his back, which ached after being hunched down for so long. He briefly considered shifting – the thought of being able to use his wings and feel fresh air between his feathers made him smile. And the garden was probably empty now, with everyone being busy with other preparations or taking their time to have lunch. It couldn’t hurt to fly around for half an hour. 

He could also visit Dean at the falconry tower.

The last thought was what made him make up his mind. He strode towards the back of the garden, where the thick bushes of herbs and flowers slowly transformed into high trees with canopies giving a perfect cover from the sun and unwanted observers. He moved quickly and with purpose, still looking around in case there was someone lurking. 

He didn’t shapeshift in the open that often, but it wouldn’t be his first time, either. There wasn’t much choice if one lived on the castle grounds – but he was very good at keeping his talent a secret.

So good that even Dean had no idea the small kestrel falcon that visited him so often was his best friend.

Dean had first met him in his bird form a few years ago, and at first Castiel had been terrified and escaped as quickly as he could. He had been certain Dean would somehow know it was him, just by looking at him. Nothing happened, though – and Castiel slowly, carefully, let Dean get closer and closer to him in his falcon form. As a falconer, Dean excelled at studying birds’ behaviour, and even though Castiel wasn’t an ordinary bird, he didn’t have to know that. Over the years, Dean had come to like Castiel’s falcon so much that Cain liked to say they belonged to each other the way other hunting birds belonged to their respective royals – or more so, in Castiel’s opinion, since the birds didn’t have much choice in the matter, whereas Castiel knew he would never choose anyone over Dean – if he was ever to choose a master, of course, which obviously wasn’t the case for him. 

He was so deep in his thoughts that at first he didn’t even hear anything. Then, to his surprise, he heard footsteps and a person came out of the same trees Castiel had planned to use for cover. It was a light-haired man, wearing an elegant looking surcoat, with a coat of arms Castiel didn’t recognise on his chest. He stopped when he and Castiel came almost face to face and cocked his head curiously to the side. 

Castiel bowed, cursing himself in his head. He should have known it was too risky to shift in the middle of the day on castle grounds; a minute later and the knight would have probably found Castiel’s discarded clothes. 

“My lord,” Castiel mumbled, keeping his head low. He didn’t know the man, but the way he dressed and kept himself spoke loudly. He must have been a knight or one of the king’s guests, already arrived for the hunt.

“Hello,” the stranger said, quite casually. Castiel risked another glance at him – he was smirking. “Forgive me, but this place is not familiar to me and I’m afraid I’ve become quite lost. I was looking for a way out of the gardens but I found only… trees.”

Castiel nodded, then pointed in the opposite direction, back towards where the roses and the main garden was. “It’s that way, my lord.” Then, before he could stop himself, he continued, “If you decided to walk this way, you’d only find more trees, I’m afraid. That’s where the royal orchard is.”

The knight didn’t seem to mind Castiel’s babble because he chuckled. “I see. I wouldn’t mind an apple, but I’d much rather find some mead.”

“The royal buttery has plenty of mead, my lord,” Castiel said with another glance the knight’s way.

“I’m not a lord,” the man said with another huff of laughter. “I’m Sir Balthazar, serving under Duke Gordon.”

Castiel couldn’t help it; he bowed again. “Sir Balthazar.”

“And you are?” Sir Balthazar asked after a moment of silence.

Castiel gaped. “I’m sorry?”

Balthazar smiled. “Your clothes are ordinary, but I can’t believe your face could belong to anyone other than a noble. _Extraordinary_ , especially the eyes.”

Castiel rarely blushed, but this time, he could feel heat gathering in his cheeks at the knight’s words. He lowered his head, trying to hide it. “I must disappoint you, then, sir.”

He could still feel Balthazar looking at him. “You couldn’t if you tried. But alright, I’ll bite. Do you work here?” Castiel nodded. “At the orchard?”

“I’m a gardener, sir,” Castiel said.

“Ah. I should’ve guessed.” When Castiel looked up again, he caught the knight glancing at his dirty hands and knees. Face burning, he looked away.

“Please excuse me, my lord, I must go back to work,” he mumbled.

“I didn't mean it in a bad way,” Balthazar said. “Your garden is beautiful. It’s admirable.”

“It’s not my garden,” Castiel said stiffly.

Balthazar smiled and winked. “Isn’t it, though, really? Think about it,” he said.

Not knowing what to say to that, Castiel kept his head lowered. He heard the knight’s chuckle.

“I see there’s no point in trying to persuade you to tell me your name. Keep it a secret, then. Make it more fun for me to try to find out.”

Castiel looked at him cautiously, afraid that the knight was angry. But he was smiling, his face relaxed and open. If he demanded to know Castiel’s name, he would tell him, but it seemed he prefered it that way. It was a strange and new thing to Castiel, but he didn’t know how to behave so following the knight’s idea would probably be best.

“I’ll go find that mead, then,” Sir Balthazar said. “I hope I’ll see you around soon.”

Castiel bowed. “My lord,” he murmured.

Balthazar shook his head and laughed, but didn’t try to correct him this time. He threw Castiel one last look over his shoulder and walked away from the trees.

Shifting was out of the question now, so after waiting a moment to let the knight disappear from his sight, Castiel walked back to the centre of the garden, where Jack, Kevin, and Samandriel were already waiting for him. 

Deciding that work was the best remedy for confusing thoughts, Castiel went back to his roses and didn’t take another break until after everything was done. His helpers were already long gone, but he knew he wouldn’t rest if the work was left unfinished, even if it meant staying in the garden until it got dark.

It was only when it happened that he looked up and saw the replanted roses. Even in the dim dying daylight he could see how beautiful they were, composing intricate patterns all around the garden and perfectly blending with the other flowers, but never being overshadowed by them. Roses were Castiel’s favourite and he felt a touch of pride at all the work they did today.

Working in the dark would serve no purpose, so he gathered all his supplies and carried them over to the greenhouse. He would have to walk around and make sure everything was perfect tomorrow when it was light again, but for now, he deserved rest. Getting something quick to eat and going to bed sounded tempting right now. He usually liked to shift and fly around a little in the evenings – his eyesight as a falcon was incomparably better, even at night – but he was far too tired for that.

He left the greenhouse and walked straight into a person standing right outside.

His first reaction was purely instinctive: hands outstretched, fingers claw-like, ready to dig into whoever was in front of him, just as he took a step back to distance himself. Before he could disappear back into the greenhouse, though, someone caught him by his shoulders.

“Hey, it’s me!” 

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. “You scared me.”

Dean’s hands stayed on his shoulders. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing, lurking here?”

“I was just about to go in when you opened the door! It’s not my fault you move so quietly,” Dean said. His hands moved, sliding slowly down Castiel’s arms until their weight disappeared. Castiel took a deep, steadying breath.

“Nevermind,” he said. “Let’s go back to the castle.”

“I was actually here looking for you,” Dean said. “I’m going to the tavern with Benny and few other people and was thinking you could join us.”

The thought of food and his bed appeared in Castiel’s mind. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m quite tired.”

“So am I,” Dean said and, as if trying to prove a point, he yawned loudly. “See? But that’s why we need to go and have some fun. The entire hunt thing that’s coming is making me antsy, Cain is being particularly irritable, and the birds, I think they feel it too. I just need to relax.”

Castiel let out a sigh. “Alright, I’ll go with you. But only for a bit. And only if you let me get cleaned up first.”

Dean laughed and leaned closer so suddenly, Castiel didn’t have time to move back. He sniffed around Castiel and said, “I think you’re good, Cas.”

Castiel huffed and pushed him away. “I’ve been digging around dirt the entire day. I’m disgusting.”

“And I’ve been around bird shit the entire day. And you could never be disgusting to me.”

“You probably already had a chance to clean up,” Castiel said. “You don’t smell like bird shit.”

“How would you know how it smells in the tower? You never come around to visit me when I work.”

“Maybe it’s because I have plenty of work myself? And I don’t need to visit you because I always see you before and after work anyway. Anything more would be too much.”

Dean huffed, but didn’t argue. Castiel thought briefly of his numerous visits to the falconry tower in his bird form – and how he always wished he could stay with Dean the entire day – but didn’t say it out loud. For all Dean knew, Castiel had never set foot in the royal falconry tower.

“Let’s go, then,” Dean said, patting him on the shoulder. “The others will be waiting.”

“I will have one beer with you, and then I’m going to bed,” Castiel reminded him as they climbed the stairs to the castle and moved down the corridor leading to the servant rooms. “You won’t persuade me to stay for more, Dean.”

Dean laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of even trying.”


	2. Chapter 2

# Chapter 2

Dean persuaded Castiel to stay much longer that he’d originally planned.

The first thought he had when he woke up the next morning was that he hated Dean Winchester and his unbelievable charm. His mouth was dry, and when he opened his eyes and saw daylight, he cursed, sat up quickly, and immediately regretted it when the pain rushed to his head. Groaning, he bent down, eyes squeezed shut and fingers clutching at his hair.

Then he heard something move right beside him. He peeked through his hands and found Dean lying sound asleep on the other side of his bed. It was small and definitely not made for two people, so Dean was barely fitting there, one arm hanging to the floor, face smushed into the rough mattress at the very edge. Castiel stared at Dean’s broad, naked back, the muscles moving beneath the skin with every breath, the sun falling through the window playing with the tiny freckles all over his shoulders. He looked around for Dean’s shirt and found it crumpled on the floor, probably taken off in the middle of the night. Castiel didn’t really remember falling asleep, but he did have a hazy memory of dragging Dean drunkenly into his own room – which made much more sense than trying to get Dean back to his house outside the castle walls. 

Castiel sighed, tearing his gaze away from Dean. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. Castiel’s bed was convenient for Dean; they were friends and even when Dean sometimes appeared at his door in the middle of the night, Castiel always let him sleep over. For Dean, it didn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t mean anything for Castiel either.

He stumbled out of bed, careful not to wake Dean. He longed for his wings. Shifting had a miraculous way of helping him deal with all hurts and aches he would experience as a human. But he wouldn’t risk it with Dean here and would have to wait for a better moment during the day.

Smacking his lips with distaste, he quickly changed into fresh clothes. He still had some work to do in the garden and he should have been there at least an hour ago – but first, he needed a gallon of water and something greasy to eat. 

With one last look at Dean’s sleeping form, Castiel left the room.

*** 

He came back to wake Dean up after breakfast, a cup of fresh water in his hand, but Dean was already gone. He must have left in a hurry, realising he was late for work again, but he still tidied up Castiel’s bed and remembered to open the window to let some air in. Smiling, Castiel rushed to the gardens, the pain in his head subsiding just a little bit.

He inspected the roses, pointing his helpers to places which could use more work, but mostly stayed away himself – his head protested every time he bent down for too long. No one asked any questions, but Kevin did send him a few amused glances as he worked on his patch of dirt. Castiel just raised a brow at him and stayed quiet. 

Lunch break came way too late for Castiel’s liking, but when it finally did, he shooed everyone out of the garden and then hurried to his room. The shift was quick and painless and soon he was flying out of the open window and soaring high into the cloudless sky.

The headache disappeared almost instantly and Castiel smiled in his head. He flapped his wings lazily, circling above the castle and enjoying the feel of wind ruffling his feathers. He floated around the garden and admired his handiwork – the roses looked spectacular even from this height. At times like these, Sir Balthazar’s words rang especially true – he did think of the garden as his own.

Being a master gardener meant that no one really minded if his breaks were longer, as long as his work was done and he was available when needed. It helped that he trusted his apprentices and knew he trained them well. After he flew around for a while, he located the lone tower where Dean worked at the mews and swooped down through the window, chittering excitedly as he landed on one of the available perches.

Dean was on the other side of the room, feeding a huge white gyrfalcon which belonged to King Michael. It was twice the size of Castiel and definitely the biggest of the royal raptors. Both the bird and Dean looked up when they heard Castiel, and while all the gyrfalcon did was flap its wings lazily, Dean smiled.

“Hey there,” he called. “You’re back.”

Castiel fidgeted on the perch, cocking his head to the side as he looked at Dean.

“Let me finish with this one first and I’ll be right there with you,” Dean promised.

The gyrfalcon chittered proudly as he ate, not paying any attention to Castiel. In fact, none of the birds were especially bothered by his arrival – he was way too small and too unimportant for them to care about him. Even the new birds Castiel had never seen before, which probably arrived with the king’s guests for the hunt, barely looked at him from their perches. 

Cain came into the room, a female sparrowhawk sitting on his hand. She was small but still larger than Castiel.

“Dean,” Cain said. “The priestess has complained her hawk is looking weaker than usual. Please take special care of her training this afternoon, will you?”

Dean sent the master falconer a wry smile. “Is Rowena ever not complaining? Of course, Cain. I’ll take her out for a session in a bit.”

Cain noticed Castiel and made a face. “Please make sure it’s today. You already lost an hour being late today, don’t spend another hour playing with your birdie.”

He sounded harsh and his face was grim, but both Dean and Castiel knew he didn’t really mean it. Cain tolerated Castiel’s falcon as long as Dean didn’t fall behind with his job by spending too much time with a bird which didn’t belong to the court. 

“Yes sir,” Dean said, but he was smiling.

Castiel plucked at his feathers mindlessly, lazily watching Cain working around the mews, but most of his attention was on Dean. When he finished feeding the gyrfalcon, he scratched its head and then strode over to where Castiel was waiting. 

He outstretched his arm and Castiel immediately floated to perch on his hand, careful with his talons – although Dean was wearing his gloves, Castiel didn’t want to hurt him in any way. Dean cooed and stroked a finger down the soft feathers on Castiel’s head, then continued to scratch at his neck. Castiel let him, letting his eyes fall closed and enjoying Dean’s gentle touch. 

“Hey, buddy, you hungry?” Dean asked in a soft voice. 

Castiel has never heard him use the same voice with any other birds. He cocked his head into Dean’s hand, trying to communicate he wanted more touching and no food today. 

“You’re being particularly cute today,” Dean murmured. “How do you feel about a short walk?”

Castiel chittered quietly and flapped his wings. Dean laughed.

“Cain? I’ll be back in a moment, I promise,” he called out loud.

Cain didn’t even look at him from where he was tending to another bird. “If you’re late, you’re not leaving here today until every sign of bird shit disappears, understood?”

Dean huffed but didn’t argue. He lifted his hand, encouraging Castiel to fly over to his shoulder, and then together they left the room, went down the few flights of stairs, and exited the tower. 

The castle was close by, but on the other side of the tower stretched wide green meadows and plains, with the woods and mountains visible in the background. They passed the training perches and other equipment which the falconers usually used and went out into the meadow.

Castiel didn’t need encouragement this time – he jumped off Dean’s shoulder and shot into the air to the excited cries made by Dean. He flew around, showing off and circling above Dean as often as he could, emboldened by his voice. He snatched a tiny blue flower from the meadow and then, seeing Dean’s raised fist, he performed his best trick: flapping his wings as quick as he could, he hovered high in the air right above Dean, staring down at him, for a long moment – and then, when he heard Dean’s satisfied laugh, he swooped down and landed safely on Dean’s hand.

“So much bragging for such a little creature,” Dean said, amused.

Castiel flapped his wings and opened his beak, letting the flower fall onto Dean’s hand. Dean laughed again as he picked it up. 

“Oh, thank you,” he said. “You keep doing that. I’m sorry, but I think you’re mistaking me for someone else. I’m not gonna build a nest with you, little fellow.”

Castiel couldn’t roll his eyes in this form, so he resorted to gently pinching Dean’s hand with his beak. Whether Dean understood Castiel was scolding him for mocking, he didn’t know, but Dean didn’t say anything else as he put the flower behind his ear and transferred Castiel onto his shoulder.

“I need to head back to work,” he said. “So if you want to go, I won’t keep you.”

Castiel chittered quietly. He should go back to the gardens, too, but he didn't want to let go of Dean’s shoulder just yet. A few more moments couldn’t hurt.

“Okay, your choice,” Dean said, but he sounded happy.

They made their way back to the tower and were passing the training perches when they noticed a strange man standing next to one of them, a large peregrine falcon on his fist. The man was dressed richly in bright colourful velvets, adorned with a long cape thrown over one shoulder and numerous rings on his fingers. When he turned and looked at them, Dean immediately stopped and bowed, hands clasped politely at his back. Castiel flew into the air and circled Dean’s head before coming to rest on his other shoulder.

The man allowed his bird to hop onto the perch and then walked over to Dean, his steps confident and head held high. 

“My lord,” Dean said and lowered his head.

“My falcon needs his training everyday,” the man said. “I need him in top form for the hunt.”

“Of course, my lord,” Dean said. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

“You?” The lord snorted inelegantly, eyeing Dean up and down. Since Dean couldn’t glare at him, Castiel did it for him, wings fluttering nervously. “No, boy. Tell your master to do it. It’s not an ordinary bird. You can’t possibly train it.”

“My lord,” Dean said, and although his voice was tight, he kept his eyes lowered and his face clear of any emotions. “I have been training with master Cain for a few years now and getting ready to replace him as master falconer. I have his highest recommendation, I assure you—”

“No,” the lord interrupted him. “I want Cain to do it. And that’s final.”

Beneath his talons, Castiel could feel Dean’s shoulders tense. He didn't say anything, just bowed once more and started to walk away. Castiel couldn’t help himself and called out, a loud, screeching sound, glaring at the lord with all the irritation his small falcon body could master.

That made the man finally look at him, too. 

“Boy,” he said. Dean stopped mid-step. “Whose bird is that?”

Dean straightened up a little and reached out with his hand, encouraging Castiel to jump to his hand again. 

“No one’s,” he said. “It’s not our royal bird, my lord.”

“I can see that,” the lord said, voice dripping with mockery. “What even is it? A pigeon? It’s very small.”

Dean took a slow step back. “He’s not a pigeon. He’s a kestrel falcon.”

“My lord,” the man added with a glare.

“Yes,” Dean said through gritted teeth, “my lord.”

“If it’s not our king’s then why are you keeping it? Are you hoping it will hunt for you? Against the royal raptors?”

“No, my lord,” Dean said. Castiel had no idea how he was keeping his voice so steady; he could feel the tension coming off his entire body in waves. “He’s a free bird, he just comes and goes.”

“Well, let it go already, and go fetch your master,” the lord spat. “My falcon needs training.”

Without words, Dean raised his arm and sent Castiel flying off his hand. Castiel circled around his head, not sure what to do. Then, suddenly, the lord made a loud sound and the peregrine falcon jumped off its perch and rushed in Castiel’s direction, talons outstretched. 

Castiel cried out and flew away at the same time that Dean came rushing back, screaming, and the lord’s bird circled back to sit on the perch again. The lord burst out laughing.

Castiel, heart beating furiously, kept his distance but could still hear Dean’s indignant voice.

“What are you doing?!”

The lord stopped laughing. “You’re forgetting yourself, servant. I thought I told you to go find your master.”

Dean pointed up at Castiel. “You scared him!”

The man’s expression darkened. “Go. Find your master. Now.”

Dean stiffened, then visibly forced himself to bow his head. “Forgive me, my lord.” He threw one long look at Castiel, hovering above the ground, then glared at the lord’s falcon and walked away. Castiel’s first instinct was to follow him, but he noticed the lord looking up at him and decided it was time to disappear.

He had a sinking feeling nothing good would come out of this encounter.

***

The remaining days leading to the hunt passed quickly and in an anxious, overexcited atmosphere. The royal household went above and beyond in trying to accomodate the king’s numerous guests; it was almost impossible for Castiel to find a quiet moment during the day to shift and stretch his wings, especially not after what happened the last time he’d visited Dean. 

They soon learned the lord’s name: it was Duke Gordon, recently arrived from Highfalls, said to have a particular taste for hunting. The same evening they met him, Dean told Castiel about it, still almost shaking with anger at the duke’s behaviour. He was also worried the peregrine falcon had frightened his kestrel enough for it never to come back again. Castiel wished he could convince his friend how wrong he was, but couldn’t do it without revealing anything. For all Dean knew, Castiel had never met the kestrel falcon and couldn’t know what it would feel in a situation like that.

Dean worked a lot the last few days before the hunt, so Castiel stayed away for the most part, not wanting to distract him. Dean’s and the birds’ performance during the event could have a huge influence on Dean’s potential advancement into the position of master falconer in the future.

On the day of the hunt, Castiel didn’t shift at all.

The hunt wasn’t a place for him, not just as a shifter but also as a servant, so he didn’t mind having to spend the day in the quiet of his garden while the entire court celebrated a beautiful day by going out into the woods and making a lot of noise with their horns and dogs and birds. As usual, Castiel was conflicted – he wanted the hunt to be a success, especially for Dean, because failing the king could mean making him angry; on the other hand, though, he couldn’t in his right mind condone using birds as hunting tools solely for the court’s entertainment. He knew Cain and Dean treated their birds well, but he had heard enough stories of other lords and their raptors to make his stomach churn at the mere thought. Dean knew his opinions on the subject and had given up trying to change his mind a long time ago. 

It was nearly dusk when Castiel heard the unmistakable sounds of the hunting party arriving back at the castle. He stayed back at the garden until most of the people went inside and only headed out when he couldn’t hear them anymore.

It took him longer than usual to reach the small cottage right outside the main castle walls, mostly because of the crowds milling around, excited chatter coming out of almost every inn he passed. The Winchesters’ house stood squeezed in between other buildings, almost identical, with its slightly crooked roof, wooden door painted pale green, and wide open windows. They lived in the newer part of the city, but the houses were still small and humble, perfect for simple merchants and farmers. Even if they could afford something bigger and nicer, Castiel knew they wouldn’t really want to move out of the house which used to belong to their parents before they passed away. They had spent their entire childhoods here and even Castiel, who only arrived in the city a few years ago, had many happy memories about the place.

He only had to wait a moment after knocking at the door for it to open and for Sam, Dean’s younger brother, to appear.

“Hey, Cas!” Sam greeted with a wide smile, ushering him inside. 

He was a few years younger than Dean but had already managed to outgrow him, which used to be a constant source of fights between the brothers. His hair was a shade lighter than Dean’s and way longer, often tied together with a piece of cloth at the back of his neck. Sam studied under the watchful eye of Dumah, the head castle librarian, but he was surprisingly well-built for someone who spent most of his time bent over old books.

“Dean’s not here yet,” Sam said. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” It was their small tradition to go out for a drink with a few other friends after hunting parties, especially since the city was usually celebrating as well. It was a good way of destressing for Dean, who took his job much more seriously than he usually showed to the world. “Do you know how it went today?”

Sam shrugged. “Haven’t heard anything, but hopefully well. You’re the one living in the castle. What’s the atmosphere back there?”

Castiel stopped at the small table by the window, drawn by the huge leather-bound book lying on top of it. “I’m not really sure. I mostly stayed back today.” 

He heard Sam’s chuckle but didn’t look at him. Instead, he traced a finger over the old cover. There was no title on it. 

“Why am I not surprised,” Sam said good-naturedly.

Castiel sent him a small smile. “Because you know hunting parties are not really something I particularly enjoy.” When Sam smiled back and nodded, Castiel pointed at the old tome. “What is it?”

Sam’s entire face seemed to light up. He came closer to where Castiel was standing, eyes wide and excited. “A thing I’m currently working on. It’s fascinating, you’d love it, I’m sure. Unlike Dean, who laughs at me everytime I mention it.”

Castiel glanced questioningly at Sam, and when Sam nodded, he slowly opened the book and peered inside. There wasn’t a title on the first page, either, but instead it was filled with an ink drawing of a large bird with a crown on its head. It probably used to be black, but the colour has paled and smudged over the years.

“It’s the royal family history,” Sam explained eagerly. “Reaches thousands of years back and covers generations upon generations of the Imeria royals. It’s _very_ interesting. There are so many things in there I never knew!”

Castiel hummed and thumbed through the book, slowly, careful with the old dusty pages. They felt fragile beneath his fingers.

“What are you doing with it?” he asked.

A chair scraped the floor when Sam sat down in it, clearly delighted to have someone to listen to him talk about it. “I need to bring the royal family tree up to date. Naomi’s orders.” Naomi was a royal historian who often worked closely with the library. “And Dumah also said it might appear on my exam next year.”

Sam was trying for a position as a librarian but it required him to pass a series of tests first. Castiel felt a tickle of pride at the thought that his friends were so close to achieving what they had hoped for. He let Sam talk passionately for a few moments, happy to listen to him even though it wasn’t a topic he ever really paid any attention to. He knew the most recent royal history – about the Duke of Blackshire marrying Princess Amara and becoming King Michael, of course, and about Queen Amara’s older brother, the one who died in an unhappy accident in the mountains before he could take over the throne. He had spent his childhood outside of the capital, though, so unlike other children growing up in the city, he was probably lacking some of the facts about the royal history. Maybe he could borrow the book and read it after Sam was done with it. 

As he carefully flipped through the book, Sam’s chatter in the background, a beautiful ink drawing stopped him from turning the page. It was in a similar fashion as the one on the first page. It showed two big birds of prey: one was an eagle and the other some type of a falcon – probably a gyrfalcon or a peregrine, he wasn’t quite sure. He knew the animal symbol of both Imeria and the royal family was an eagle, but he had no idea what the connection between the royals and falcons could be. Sam’s voice quieted down as he bent over the book with curiosity, finger tracing the text weaving elegantly around the drawing. It took him a moment to find the right passage, and another to understand its meaning.

 _According to legends, the Imerian coat of arms, a crowned eagle, has its source in the rulers of our land,_ Castiel read. _When new inhabitants migrated into our lands, years and years ago, the people chose their very first monarch: Edlund, who possessed a gift of metamorphosis and was therefore considered the most worthy of them. Most sources claim Edlund could transform into an eagle and back into human, at will, though some suggest another bird of prey, a gyrfalcon or a hawk. Today, Edlund’s abilities are not recognized as sorcery, however, it is unknown whether the first royal family possessed any other magical powers. It is highly probable Edlund could also…_

Sam’s loud voice pulled Castiel out of focus and he blinked himself back to reality, looking up from the book in a daze. Never before had he heard the story of Edlund or his powers and even his father, who had taught him all he knew about shapeshifting, had never mentioned it. Castiel wished he had more time to read about it, curious whether he could learn something new about his own abilities, but judging from the loud noises around him it was clear reading was out of the question now.

“Hey, Cas,” said Dean, who had just entered the house and was smiling at him. “Remind me later to give you back your shoes, will you?”

Castiel watched as Dean disappeared into another room, only to come back soon, shirtless, with a fresh tunic in his hands. He blinked rapidly again, the view in front of him and the story he had just read making his head dizzy. 

“Just keep them,” he said. “Are you alright? How was the hunt?”

Dean sent him another smile, pulling the tunic over his head and smoothing it down with a hand. “Let’s go have that drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”

***

“And then the very same bird, the tiny merlin no one believed in, not even Lady Anael – it’s called a pigeon hawk for a reason, you know – it came back, at last, this huge dead hare in its talons, almost twice as big as the bird…”

“Twice?” Krissy asked, doubtfully.

“If not bigger,” Dean continued with a grin. “I think Cain nearly fainted when he saw it. We were half certain we would never see the small bastard again.”

“The lady would demand your heads if that was to happen,” Charlie said with a smirk.

Dean laughed. “Tell me about it. Cain didn’t faint, but I’m pretty sure I blacked out for a second or two.”

People gathered around the table burst out laughing as Dean smiled, proud of his joke. Castiel, sitting at his right, gave him a fond look as he sipped his beer, and Dean caught it, shrugged, and sent him a wink.

Their favourite tavern was more crowded than usual, but it didn’t seem to matter to any of Dean’s friends. It’s possible they might have been the loudest table in the room, what with the way Garth’s voice turned high when he was excited, Donna laughed cheerfully with each joke, and Jo kept bickering with Claire and Alex. Castiel looked at them all with a warm sensation in his chest, grateful to finally see Dean more relaxed.

It seemed Dean had already told most of the anecdotes from the hunting party and most of them slowly moved on to other topics. Castiel thought about asking Sam more questions about the history book from before, the passage he had read still fresh in the back of his mind, but he didn’t want Sam to think about his job while he was enjoying himself with his friends. And judging from the way his cheeks turned bright red every time Sarah, his friend from the library, laughed at something he said, Sam was having a really great time.

When Castiel ran out of beer, he excused himself and went over to the counter to buy another one. The waitresses seemed too busy for him to flag them down as they ran around the room, and he didn’t mind waiting for a while. He watched Dean’s friends – and his friends, as well, since he really liked some of them – with a smile on his face and didn’t even notice the person that stopped beside him at first.

“That’s an interesting choice of jewelry for a gardener,” someone said.

Castiel flinched. When he turned, he saw Sir Balthazar, the knight he had met a few days before in the woods behind the garden. The man was looking at him with a smirk, a glass of wine in his hand. 

When Castiel didn’t reply, just sent him a confused look, Balthazar pointed at the brass ring on his finger. Without thinking, Castiel covered the ring with his other hand.

“It’s just a ring, sir,” he said quietly.

Balthazar arched a brow. “So I’ve noticed. Do not worry your pretty head, I’m not accusing you of stealing it. I don’t think it’s even gold, is it?”

Castiel lowered his head, cheeks burning. “It doesn’t have to be gold to be valuable, my lord.” He didn’t mean to sound quite so blunt, but fortunately, the knight didn’t seem to mind. He laughed and reached for Castiel’s hand.

“May I?” he asked. 

Castiel met his gaze and found only amused curiosity in his eyes, so he slowly offered the hand with the ring to him. Balthazar grabbed it gently and brought it closer to inspect the ring. 

“Mhmm,” he murmured. “It’s really quite beautiful.”

Castiel could still feel his face flushing, the knight’s touch on his skin not unpleasant but also not entirely comfortable. “It belonged to my father.”

Balthazar hummed again. “And who was he, if I may ask?”

“No one,” Castiel said. 

“Quite a ring for no one to belong to,” Balthazar said with a sly smile. “Did he get it from his father, too?”

Castiel nodded slowly, but didn’t feel like discussing his father with this strange knight, especially not tonight. Balthazar must have noticed his hesitation because he let go of his hand and sent him a coy smile.

“It fits you, gardener,” he said. “You continue to surprise me. I must say, I’m really starting to enjoy getting to know you and I wonder what other secrets you may keep.” When Castiel opened his mouth to protest, to deny everything the knight might be imagining about him, Balthazar just shook his head and laughed. “No, please, don’t ruin the fun for me. I didn’t find out your name tonight, but third time’s the charm. Let’s see what happens next time we meet, shall we?”

Confounded, Castiel watched as Sir Balthazar turned on his heel and gracefully maneuvered through the crowd. He looked down and slowly took off the ring, turning it in his hands. There was a tiny star-shaped mark inside of the ring, the only thing that really showed its age. Castiel never really saw the ring as anything spectacular and he wondered what made Sir Balthazar even look at it twice. 

He was still playing with it when Dean appeared by his side, empty mug in his hand, his head turned towards the place Balthazar had disappeared. 

“Cas, who was that?” he asked.

Castiel slipped the ring back onto his finger. “No one. A knight. I met him a few days ago in the garden.” He shook his head. “He’s quite peculiar.”

Dean hummed distractedly. “I’d say so. You don’t see many knights in these parts of the city. I wonder what he was looking for here.” He looked at Castiel, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Me? I’m fine, Dean. Why wouldn't I be?”

Dean reached out and curled a free hand around Castiel’s forearm. He lowered his voice. “A knight or not, I may still kick his ass if you want me to.”

“What?” Castiel blinked at him, surprised to see a grim look in Dean’s eyes. “Why would you—?”

“If he was too forward—”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head with a surprised chuckle. “That’s not what happened, I swear.” At least he thought it wasn’t. “And even if it was, I can speak for myself, you know?”

Dean straightened up, letting go of his arm, but he kept looking into his eyes as if looking for a sign of anything bad happening. “I know,” he said.

“I don’t think you do,” Castiel said, smiling good-naturedly. “Thank you anyway, though. For offering to save me from unwanted advances.”

The tips of Dean’s ears turned slightly pink. “Hey, that’s why you’ve got me. Just say the word.” He looked away, as if looking for Balthazar again. “Who is he, anyway? I’ve never seen him around before.”

“He serves under Lord Gordon, I believe,” Castiel said. “He arrived for the hunt.”

“Gordon,” Dean muttered. “There’s another reason to be careful around him, then.” 

“Speaking of which, did anything happen with Lord Gordon during the hunt?” Castiel asked. “I know you worried about it after the incident at the tower.”

Dean shook his head with a quiet sigh. “He barely paid any attention to me, actually. Didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Which only makes me more suspicious now, if I’m being honest with you, Cas. I told you he was furious that day. I was sure he’d try something.”

It was Castiel’s turn to reach out and touch Dean’s arm. He hated to see Dean’s face so grim again, especially since he was the one that brought the unpleasant topic back. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean sent him a questioning look. “For what? You didn’t do anything. Maybe I imagined how mad he was, maybe I overreacted.”

“I’m sorry for making you think about it again.”

“Hey, stop.” Dean smiled. “I’d think about it anyway. If not about Gordon, then about the falcon. He still hasn’t come back, you know? I’m worried he might be gone for good.”

The sad grimace on Dean’s face made Castiel’s heart ache. He had thought he was giving Dean space, not showing up at the tower before the big day, but maybe he only contributed to Dean’s worrying. He had to do something to make Dean smile again, and if he couldn’t do it himself, he would use the falcon.

“I don’t believe that,” he said quietly, but with enough confidence that Dean looked at him with interest. He squeezed Dean’s arm lightly, then let it go. “I’m sure he just needs some time and then he’ll be back.”

“How would you know?” Dean asked, chuckling. There was warmth in his green eyes, and his smile was small but genuine. Castiel felt an answering smile on his own face. “You know nothing about birds, Cas.”

“I just have a feeling it’s not over,” he said.

***

The night sky was cloudless. Castiel revelled in the chilly wind between his feathers as he soared through the darkness, hoping to clear his mind before bed. He had found that shifting right before he went to sleep worked miracles on his sleep, just as flying right after waking up helped him to be more alert during the day. If he could, he would spend entire nights in his falcon form – but unfortunately, he still required sleep.

He floated above the dark woods as the last remnants of the alcohol ebbed out of his mind. The night around him was quiet but alive, the trees murmuring as the wind swirled among them. Castiel circled above the forest and lowered himself down towards the clearing not far from the castle grounds, but still deep enough for it to be secluded.

He only noticed the person sitting below the big oak tree at the edge of the glade when he was low enough for them to see him as well, even in the dark. His wings faltered and he took a sharp turn in the air before he realised he knew the person looking at him.

With a soft chirp, Castiel came back and flew right towards Dean, who was already standing up and raising his arm up in the air. Castiel hovered over him for a few seconds, glad to see Dean’s wide smile, and then he gently perched on Dean’s outstretched hand, careful with the talons against his bare skin.

He was surprised to see Dean here, alone, at night. When they said their goodnights after leaving the tavern, Dean hadn’t mentioned any plans to go out this late, especially not in the middle of the woods. He chirruped questioningly, looking Dean up and down and searching for any signs of injury or distress.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Dean murmured, bringing his arm back down and stroking Castiel’s head gently with his free hand. Castiel butted against him affectionately and Dean laughed quietly. “You had me worried, you know? Where have you been?”

Castiel bit at Dean’s skin, not hard enough to leave any marks. Dean chuckled at him. 

“Are you hungry? I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you. I really wasn’t expecting to see you here. See, no gloves, either.” Dean brushed a finger against Castiel’s talons carefully, almost absent-mindedly. Any other bird would probably flinch, but Castiel only cocked his head at him. “It’s a good thing you’re so well-behaved.”

He raised his arm again and Castiel took off eagerly. Feeling Dean’s eyes on him, he soared up high, hovered above the meadow for a few moments, then dove towards the ground, as silent as he could be with the wind rustling among his feathers. Dean was seated again, back against the wide trunk of the oak, and he grinned at Castiel as he flew to him and landed right beside him on one of the big roots surrounding the tree.

“Maybe it’s better you weren’t around recently,” Dean said. He reached out his hand, palm up, and laughed when Castiel hopped closer to nip gently at his skin. “That asshole Gordon is still here. Don’t worry, he’s not going to do anything like what he did last time we saw him, I’ll make sure of that.” 

Castiel chirped quietly. Dean leaned closer, scooped him delicately into his hands, and transferred him onto his shoulder with a smile.

“Not sure about his own bird, though,” Dean mused. 

Castiel wondered if Dean had any idea how much he talked around the falcon, and if he did, whether it was done on purpose. He liked to think Dean felt comfortable enough around the bird, but it saddened him a little to realise he never shared so much with Castiel in his human form.

“I saw that poor creature again today, during the hunt,” Dean continued. “I don’t think he’s treating her right, you know. Of course, we can’t say anything, neither me or Cain, not to a lord. But my heart breaks a little every time I look at her.”

Castiel wished Dean could say more, describe what was wrong with the peregrine falcon they both saw a few days ago. But then Dean shook his head as if trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts.

“I came here to stop thinking about things and now look at me.” He chuckled. “What do you say we fly some more? And then I should probably go back home and get some sleep. Cain will kill me if I oversleep again.”

Dean scrambled to his feet, Castiel still perched on his shoulder. He flapped his wings, one of them brushing against Dean’s cheek. Dean lifted his hand, waited for Castiel to hop onto his wrist, and then dropped a quick kiss on the top of Castiel’s small head.

“Enjoy, little friend,” he murmured and launched him into the air.

Castiel flew around for a few more moments, Dean watching him silently from the meadow. He was still playing with the air currents when he saw Dean wave to him and then disappear slowly between the trees. It took a lot of self-discipline for Castiel not to follow him and see him reach home safely. Instead, Castiel waited until Dean was no longer visible among the trees.

He wanted to see, with his own two eyes, the state Lord Gordon’s peregrine falcon was in, and night was probably his best chance to do so. Cain worked at this hour sometimes, seeing as he lived close by, at the castle, but he would never mind Castiel visiting nor bedrudge him food or rest on one of the perches. 

Without making any sound, Castiel flew into the tower and landed gracefully in one of the windows, looking around with interest. Except for the birds, most of which were asleep, heads tucked into their wings, there was no one inside. Castiel took in his surroundings slowly, letting his eyes get used to the darkness. The duke’s peregrine was there too. She looked well at first glance, but Castiel could feel more distress coming off of her than from all the other royal birds. 

Curious, he flew over and landed on the free perch closer to the peregrine. She let out a quiet sound and flapped her wings anxiously. Castiel chirped, hoping she could understand he meant her no harm, especially since he was much smaller than she was. The bird remained nervous, though, and now that Castiel was closer, he could see the reason – the bird’s eyelids had been sewn shut.

The female was blind.

Castiel recoiled. He had heard of such practices – some claimed that sewing a bird’s eyes helped it to get acquainted with the environment with its other senses first. Usually, though, it was something done with new birds of prey, those young and still learning. Castiel was quite certain the lord’s bird was experienced enough already. She shouldn’t have to go through such treatment.

Castiel didn’t think too long before jumping down to the ground and shifting into his human form. He wasn’t a falconer, obviously, but spending a lot of time with Dean and being able to change into a bird himself had taught him quite a lot about how to behave around raptors. He was naked after the shifting, but there was no one around except for the birds and he didn’t really think about it when he crossed the room and grabbed one of the leather gloves he knew belonged to Dean. He put it on and came back to the lord’s bird, slowly reaching out with his arm and making a soft sound to lure the bird. 

She cocked her head to the side and flapped her wings, then slowly, almost hesitantly, jumped and landed gracefully on Castiel’s wrist. He murmured nonsense words at her, patting her beautiful head with his other hand. He couldn’t believe how someone could have done something like that to a bird. Suddenly, he was grateful Cain and Dean never tried such tricks to train their birds. 

He wondered why the lord would do it – was it a punishment for not behaving well during the hunt? A lesson? A part of her training? – and he kept talking to the falcon, quiet, soft words that he hoped sounded at least a little comforting to the animal. That was probably why he missed the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading up the tower.

But then a loud voice asked, “Who’s there?”, and Castiel panicked.

The falcon flew into the air with a nervous screech when he almost shook her off his wrist, in a hurry to change form and escape. He could now distinctly hear the rushing footsteps and a raised voice, and he almost tripped and fell down as he threw the glove to the ground, closed his eyes, and shifted.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a person running into the room just as he launched in a flurry of feathers and dust – a person in rich, colourful clothes, a dagger in his hand. Castiel didn’t stay long enough to hear if Lord Gordon said anything – in a matter of seconds, he was flying out the window and speeding towards the dark woods visible on the horizon.

His heart didn’t calm down until well into the night, and only then was he brave enough to stealthily fly back to the castle, transform, and sneak into his room. 

He didn’t feel safe even when he locked the door and hid beneath his blankets, and sleep didn’t come until dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

# Chapter 3

The next day found Castiel in the garden, in full sun, sweating through weeding out the royal peonies. He didn’t fly that morning, still too anxious about what had happened the night before, and too tired after many sleepless hours to trust his flying abilities. The thought of losing focus and falling to his death was almost as terrifying as the memory of Lord Gordon’s footsteps approaching as he stood naked in the middle of the falconry tower. 

The first half of his morning passed calmly. Castiel could hear his apprentices walking around, chatting, and joking as they worked, but he stayed quiet, trying to keep his eyes open and concentrate on his job instead of the apprehensive thoughts in his head.

He almost managed to relax, convincing himself nothing bad was going to happen, when he realized what Samandriel and Jack were talking about.

“Does anyone know what really happened?” asked Jack.

Samandriel shook his head. “It’s all just a rumour for now because no one wants to say anything just yet. All we know is the king hasn’t left the throne room since this morning. Apparently, the falconers are with him.”

Castiel’s head snapped up.

“Are they being questioned?” Jack asked, his eyes wide and curious.

“It certainly seems so. Who else would know about that if not them? They spend all the time in the tower, they must have seen something.”

“Were they there when the lord saw the creature?”

“I don’t know. But Hannah saw them being led into the throne room, guards all around them, and Inias told me the king is furious.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Shapeshifting is prohibited.”

Samandriel agreed quietly, and then noticed Castiel watching them. Before Castiel could say anything, the boy elbowed Jack in the side and they both hurried back to work, stalking off in opposite directions. 

Castiel stayed where he was, on his knees with his hands stained with dirt. His mind was reeling. He knew better than to believe servants’ gossip, but he was horrifyingly certain this was actually true. He knew of the king’s prejudice towards shapeshifters, and the way it also shaped the opinions of everyone living in the castle. Shapeshifters were banned. They had no place among the court or in the city, and the king would probably like all of them wiped from existence altogether. He was known for his hatred. In the past, he had hunted and killed many of Castiel’s kind, years before Castiel even arrived at the castle after leaving his parents’ village. To be a shapeshifter in the castle was like stealing straight from a merchant’s cart, all while the merchant was watching you. 

And yet, Castiel had been doing it for years with no repercussions. He became too sloppy with his shifting, paying little to no attention to what was happening around him, risking way too much and way too often. He should never have done what he did last night. Anyone could have seen him – and Cain and Dean should have been the least of his worries. The king had just organised a royal hunt, it was obvious one of his guests would have gone up to the tower to see how their bird was doing. 

It seemed Castiel’s bad luck came back to him after all these years in the form of Lord Gordon.

It was no surprise the lord had taken the shocking news to the king. He couldn’t have seen much, and he definitely hadn’t recognised Castiel – otherwise, Castiel would have already been thrown in a cell – but what he did see and hear was enough. He had heard a human in a tower and seen a bird escape. 

The conclusion was obvious.

What hurt Castiel the most was the knowledge that now Cain and Dean were taking all the blame.

He jumped to his feet, the tools he’d been using falling to the ground with a loud clang. Jack, standing closest to him, turned to him with a surprised look, but Castiel didn’t have time to explain anything. He had to help Dean.

He turned on his heel and left the garden, then hurried through the castle, dodging servants going about their day. He had never climbed the stairs so quickly in his life, and then he was running towards the throne room door – only to find it closed and guarded.

He stopped a few steps before the door, catching big gulps of air and feeling as if his heart would jump out of his chest. The guards barely moved but they stared at him, frowning. Castiel recognised one of them.

“Benny,” he said, still breathless.

Benny threw a look at the other guard, an older man Castiel didn’t know, then looked back at Castiel. He wasn’t smiling.

“Hello, Cas,” he said warily.

“Benny. Is Dean there?”

The other guard glared at him. “The king is preoccupied. No one is allowed to enter,” he said.

“I know,” Castiel said. “But is Dean there with him?”

Benny’s mouth thinned. “Cas, go back to work. You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, you have to let me in. Dean is innocent!”

“Cas—”

“Benny, please.” Castiel took a step forward, then another. The second guard moved his lance to bar the door, but Benny didn’t move. “You know he’s innocent.”

“This is not a place for you, gardener,” the second guard said. “Leave before we make you.”

“You know him,” Castiel begged. “I know you do.”

“Cas, go away. Dean’s safe. There’s no need to worry, I promise.”

“He’s not the one the king is looking for—”

The second guard took a step towards Castiel. “Are you saying you know who the king is looking for?” His face was angry, a dangerous spark in his eyes. Castiel backed away and shook his head. “Then get the hell out of here before I run you through with my sword.”

Castiel met Benny’s eyes. “Please—”

Before any of them could answer, footsteps sounded in the hall and both guards snapped back to their position, backs straight and eyes unmoving. When Castiel turned, he saw Queen Amara walking towards them, her dark hair pinned back and adorned with a silver circlet, her black dress simple but elegant. Castiel bowed down, head lowered, and he stayed that way even while he squeezed his hands into fists and could hear his heart hammering in his ears. 

The queen wasn’t around much, more often than not choosing the solitude of her chambers and disregarding any official meetings and banquets the king revelled in. They had been married for over twenty years but the entire court knew they now lived as if they weren’t – only their royal titles kept the illusion of the royal couple. The fact that through all these years they never managed to bear an heir was said to be the final blow to their relationship.

“Open the door,” the queen said as she came closer. All Castiel could see was the hem of her dress but he could imagine the look on her face – boredom mixed with severity. No one said no to the queen.

“Your highness,” Benny muttered, and then the door was opening and Queen Amara marched in.

Before it closed again, Castiel looked up and saw the king seated on his throne, surrounded by advisors and guards, while both Cain and Dean stood before the dais, heads bowed and hands shackled. Without thinking, Castiel rushed forward – but then the second guard pushed the blunt end of his lance into his stomach and sent him falling to the ground with a surprised cry.

Benny caught the guard’s arm before he could land another hit and said to Castiel, “Go.”

Castiel scrambled up and hurried away without looking back.

He couldn’t believe it was happening, and all because of his stupidity. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to Dean, and he was almost shaking with the thought of Dean with his hands bound, the hands that were always so gentle with all the birds in his care. The hands that held him just a few days ago, that handed him beer when he visited, that clapped his shoulder as he was leaving. Good, innocent Dean, now threatened, all because of Castiel’s stupid mistake. There had to be something he could do or say to prove Dean wasn’t the one to blame. Something other than shifting right in front of the king’s eyes and turning his wrath on him. But if there wasn’t, Castiel wouldn’t think twice before revealing his secret, not if it meant Dean walking free.

He was too preoccupied with his thoughts to see where he was going, and he didn’t notice the person standing by the open door to one of the chambers until they grabbed his arm and yanked him inside.

“Stay quiet.”

Castiel didn’t make a sound, but when he looked up and saw Sir Balthazar’s face, he bent down into a bow. 

The hand on his arm tightened. “Stop this. You don’t have to bow to me.”

“Sir,” Castiel mumbled.

“Come on.” The knight pulled him further into the chamber, which was probably his own room, judging by the way it was furnished – not too rich but definitely better than any of the servants’ rooms. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” Castiel asked. He sounded anxious even in his own ears. 

“About what’s happening in the throne room.” The knight saw Castiel’s face and sent him a smile. “Yes, I know what’s happening in there.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I can and I will,” Balthazar said smoothly, “but I want you to answer me one question first.” When Castiel didn’t say anything, he continued, “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Faced with the truth so suddenly, Castiel had no idea how to react or conceal his surprise – so he didn’t. When he just stared at the knight with wide eyes, neither denying nor confirming, Balthazar nodded and smiled.

“That’s what I thought.”

“How—” Castiel backed away until the back of his legs met a chair and he sat down heavily. Balthazar didn’t seem to mind him sitting in his presence, so he stayed that way. “Why—”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Balthazar said. “I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re not?” Castiel blinked. “But… everyone is. Shapeshifters are banned from the country. Punishable by death. The king—”

“The king is a maniac,” Balthazar said.

Castiel gaped at him.

“Blasphemous, aren’t I?” The knight smirked. “I know. It’s my favourite personality trait, if I’m being honest.”

“I… don’t understand,” Castiel said. “You’re his knight. And Lord Gordon’s knight.”

“A fact I mourn every day,” Balthazar said with a sigh. “Yes, I’m sworn to them, but it does not mean I need to agree with everything they do and say. In this case, I rarely agree with anything, and especially not with that.”

“But why?” 

Balthazar tilted his head and sent him a knowing look. “Can’t you guess?”

Castiel thought about the times he had met Sir Balthazar before – wandering alone, far from his usual crowds, seemingly lost. Was it possible he was always just looking for solitude to be able to transform without being seen?

Was it possible he was like Castiel?

When Castiel raised his eyes and met Balthazar’s, something in him already knew the answer. The mischievous glint in his eyes spoke volumes.

“You’re a shifter,” Castiel said.

Balthazar nodded. “Always have been.”

“I have never met anyone like me before,” Castiel said in wonderment. “Except for my father, but he died years ago. I sometimes thought I was the only one in the world.”

“There aren’t a lot of us, true, but you’re definitely not alone. Do you need me to shift now so that you have proof?” Balthazar reached for a collar of his shirt with a satisfied smile. 

Castiel stood up quickly. “There is no need for that. I believe you.”

Balthazar dropped his hand. “Another time, then.”

“Are you… What is your…?” Castiel waved to Balthazar’s body, not knowing how to ask what he wanted to know and not sound too forward.

“A fox,” Balthazar said with a raise of his eyebrow. “My animal is a fox. And I’ll have you know she’s marvelous.”

Castiel nodded, unsure how to respond. Looking at Sir Balthazar now, he could definitely see how well the animal suited him. It was there in the knight’s all-knowing smirk and sly eyes. 

“I understand you’re a bird,” Balthazar said, gesturing to Castiel with his hand and prompting him to talk.

“A kestrel falcon,” Castiel said with a nod.

“And Gordon saw you transform.”

“He didn’t see me, not exactly. I was in the tower, in my human form, when he heard my voice. I shifted before he appeared, but he must have seen the bird fly out the window and concluded it was a shifter.” 

It felt strange talking about it. In the back of his head there was a voice telling him he should be more wary, he shouldn’t trust Balthazar so easily, he could use this information to reveal his secret – but deep inside he felt Balthazar was telling the truth. There was something there, like a pull between them, two shapeshifters, and Castiel realised he had felt it since the first time they saw each other.

And if anyone could help him now, it was Balthazar.

“He did,” Balthazar said, all joking now gone from his voice. “Gordon is greedy, he wouldn’t miss a chance to ingratiate himself with the king and would probably run to him with information even if it was just a bird. Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t.”

Castiel let out a sigh. “I’m always careful, I swear. I don’t know what—”

“I doesn’t matter now.” Balthazar put up a hand to stop him. “And it gets worse.”

“How can it get worse? Someone almost saw me and now my best friend is being accused of keeping secrets from the king,” Castiel said desperately. “I can’t imagine a worse situation.”

Balthazar smiled sadly. “He found a feather which I believe belongs to you.” 

Castiel’s heart stopped. “But that means…”

“That means it will be easier to recognise the bird it comes from, and from that try to determine who it could be.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “My falcon is much smaller than any other birds. If someone knows a lot about birds, they will know the feather comes from a kestrel and not from any of the royal birds.” A sudden, paralyzing thought struck him and he opened his eyes with a loud gasp. “Dean—”

Balthazar met his eyes and then, very slowly, nodded. Castiel covered his mouth.

“Dean must have recognised it,” he whispered. “He has met the falcon enough times and his knowledge of raptors is almost as wide as Cain’s.” 

“I was there when Gordon presented the feather to the king,” Balthazar said. “I don’t know your friend as well as you do, but one look at his face in that moment told me more than I needed to know.”

“He recognised it,” Castiel said quietly. “Oh, God. He recognised it.”

Balthazar nodded. “I don’t think anyone saw him, he came back to his senses immediately, but he definitely knows the bird that had left the feather. It may be a matter of time because they make him reveal the truth.”

The thought of Dean realising his favourite falcon, the one he treated almost as his own, was in fact a shapeshifter – and could be anyone, whether Dean knew them or not – felt like a heavy blow to Castiel’s head. He never wanted Dean to find out the truth like that. He should be the one to decide when and how to tell him.

And now, because of his recklessness, he may never have a chance.

“What do I do?” he asked.

Balthazar stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. Normally, Castiel would back away and immediately drop into a bow, but with all that he learned in the last few minutes, he barely even remembered it was a knight he was talking with.

“Your friends have nothing to say for now, or at least nothing they want to say, and the king doesn’t have any proof. I think they’re going to let them go until they find something. The king will probably start looking for a way to find the shifter as soon as possible, so you realise there was never a worse time to shift.” When Castiel nodded, Balthazar smiled. “I have no way of knowing whether the king will find something. If he doesn’t, I believe he may become frustrated and act recklessly. He can do anything.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “Is there something we can do?”

“Well, you could leave here as soon as possible,” Balthazar said, “and I would join you. But even now I realise it’s probably not something you’re interested in.”

“My whole life is here,” Castiel said. _Dean is here_ , he thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

“That’s what I thought. We could also hope the king will tire of the search and give up, but I’m afraid we would be fools to think that. I must say, it’s difficult for me to think of any other ideas now, so I think we should just wait for the situation to evolve and see what happens next.”

“But what if they don’t let Dean go?” 

Balthazar shook his head. “They will, for now. They could end up coming back for him, trying to break answers out of him, but I don’t think the king is that desperate yet. You still have some time.”

“To do what?”

Balthazar sent him a knowing look. “To tell Dean the truth.”

Castiel stepped away. “Why? If he knows, they’ll find a way to tear it out of him. I won’t endanger him like that.”

“And if he doesn’t know, he will finally admit he knows which bird it belongs to.”

“But they will have no way of ever finding it. I will not shift,” Castiel said.

“Which is why they will find another kestrel falcon,” Balthazar said calmly. “They may imprison it. They may kill it. Do you want to see other birds killed just because of you?”

Castiel recoiled. “They would have no way of knowing the shifter is even in an animal form—”

“And do you think the king would care about that?” Balthazar shrugged. “Because I don’t. If he becomes desperate enough, he won’t back away from anything.”

“I don’t think telling Dean the truth can change that,” Castiel said slowly. “What if he reveals my secret to the king himself?”

“Do you really believe that?” Balthazar arched a sceptical eyebrow.

Castiel looked away. “I have no way of knowing how Dean would behave. We’ve known each other for years and I never told him about it. He may not want to know me.”

“Or he may understand,” Balthazar said. “Anyway, the decision belongs to you. Whether you tell him or not, we still have no ideas on how to fix the problem. I will look for a way and contact you when I know more. For now, you should go and stay out of trouble.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “But if Dean isn’t—”

“He will be alright for now, believe me. If not, we’ll also find a way to prove he’s innocent.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Thank you. I’m not sure why you’re helping me, but thank you anyway. I will be indebted to you, sir.” He bowed his head.

Balthazar put a finger to his chin and lifted it. He was smirking. “I can already think of two ways how you could repay me. First, stop with all the bowing and “sirs”. I have had enough of that. We’re equal.”

Castiel wanted to argue, but the glint in Balthazar’s clever eyes stopped him.

“Of course,” he said with a small smile of his own. “And second?”

“Second.” Balthazar stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I still have no idea what your name is.”

Before Castiel could stop himself, he started laughing.

***

It was with a heavy heart that Castiel knocked on Dean’s door that evening. It was a new feeling – he usually associated visits to the Winchesters with joy and good times, but things had changed since the last time he had been here. 

Today, Dean would learn the truth about him.

He didn’t need to knock twice before the door opened and he saw Dean. Despite what he had gone through during the day, Dean looked as good as ever, and when he saw Castiel standing outside, his entire face lit up with a smile.

“Cas! God, it’s good to see you,” he said and ushered him inside.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. “Are you—”

He didn’t finish because Dean chose this moment to wrap his arms around Castiel and hug him close, right there where they stood on the doorstep of his house. Castiel exhaled loudly, surprised, but hugged him back just as firmly, even hiding his face in Dean’s shoulder for a second and breathing him in. Dean didn’t embrace him often, but when he did, it was always hard to let go of him.

They pulled apart far too soon and Castiel tried to blink back the emotions he was sure were visible in his eyes. Dean kept his hands on his shoulders and looked at him with a warm smile.

“You always know when I need company, don’t you,” he said.

Castiel wished he could go back into his arms and stay there forever instead of having to say anything to Dean that could ruin his day further. 

“That is why you still keep me around,” he said, aiming for levity but sounding strained even to his own ears. 

Dean’s smile softened. “Yeah. Of course.”

They went inside the house, Dean closing the door behind Castiel and offering him tea and something to eat. Castiel didn’t think he could stomach anything right now, not with how nervous he felt, but he asked for tea. While Dean busied himself by the tiny stove, Castiel sat down at the table by the window and looked around the house.

“Where is Sam?”

Dean glanced at him over his shoulder. “Working. I’m afraid he’s going to be quite busy in the coming days.”

“Is it because of the…” Castiel didn’t manage to say it out loud, but one look at Dean’s face confirmed it.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. He passed Castiel his tea and sat down in front of him with his own mug. “How much do you know?”

_More than I should,_ Castiel thought. Out loud, he said, “Bits and pieces. I first learned anything was going on from Jack and Samandriel, and it was still mostly a rumour then.”

Dean nodded. “Alright then, I’ll start from the beginning. I was in the tower with Cain, as usual, when—”

Castiel held up his hand. “Wait. First, could you please tell me if you’re in any trouble at all?”

Dean smiled. “Not right now, no. The king doesn’t have any proof, even if we were somehow involved in this. But there’s more,” he added as his smile slipped. “I’ll get to that later.”

_I know,_ Castiel wanted to say. _But you don’t know the whole truth._

“Anyway, as I said, it’s morning as usual in the tower, Cain being a grumpy bastard and all that, when suddenly there are guards coming up. With barely any explanation, they grab both of us and lead us in front of the king. Benny is there, and a few others, but they barely look at me as we’re pushed into the throne room. King Michael is on the throne and he looks angry, but what rattles me more is Lord Gordon standing right beside him, smiling as if he’s just been appointed the king’s right hand or something. You remember him, right?”

“Yes, I remember,” he said because Dean stopped talking and waited for his answer. “The one that is mistreating his peregrine.”

“Yes,” Dean said, then frowned. “Did I ever mention it was a peregrine?” Castiel’s heart stopped. “Well, it doesn’t matter.” Dean dismissed any doubt he had almost immediately and Castiel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “You can imagine my confusion upon seeing him there and looking like that.

“They put shackles on us, as if we were already deemed criminals,” Dean continued, “and then the king asks us, without preamble, if we’re aware of the presence of a shapeshifter in the castle.”

Castiel looked away, unable to meet Dean’s eyes as he told him about it.

“Obviously, we’re in shock. We look at each other and Cain says, ‘No, Your Highness, we’re not’ and Lord Gordon all but calls him a liar. Well, maybe not that, exactly, but they just keep asking us all those questions and finally Cain asks, ‘What is this about, anyway?’ and only then does the king tell us they discovered a shapeshifter in the falconry tower last night but it managed to escape before they could catch it. Apparently, they also found a glove that supposedly was used by the shifter, a falconer’s glove. I instantly recognise it as one of mine, but we both keep quiet about it, not knowing what we are being accused of. 

“So they continue to question us and we just keep telling them that we don’t know anything about it, that this is the first time we’ve heard about anything like that. The king straight up asks if one of us is a shifter or, if not, if we know anyone that is. We deny everything, of course. Cain tells the king he has known him for many years and was never disappointed in his work before, and that he can vouch for me with his life. Lord Gordon doesn’t look convinced, but the king lets it go, for now. They just keep asking us questions about other birds, but we don’t give them anything. I almost start hoping that will be the end, but then the lord produces a feather out of his cape and shows it to the king.”

Castiel swallowed, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure he could trust his voice.

“At first we’re all unimpressed – it’s just a feather. We see those every day. The lord says he was the one visiting his bird at the tower when he heard a human voice, but when he climbed the stairs, he only saw a bird flying out the window. The feather and the glove, he says, were all that was left of it, which of course made him believe it must have been a shifter.

“Cain comments that the feather could belong to any of the birds in the tower, and Lord Gordon and the king agree and ask whether he recognises which one it is. Cain says he doesn’t, but he will be happy to find out. Then they turn to me with the same question.”

Dean paused, took a few big gulps of his tea, and met Castiel’s eyes with a small, sad smile.

“Now this is the part when it gets ugly,” Dean said quietly. “Because, Cas, when I looked at the feather, I immediately knew which bird it belonged to.”

Castiel took a deep breath. Now would be a good time to interrupt him and confess everything. But as Castiel looked at Dean’s disappointed face, he couldn’t make himself say the words.

“You don’t mean…” he said instead, lowering his eyes to try to hide the truth.

“I do.” Dean stood up so suddenly, the movement made the untouched tea spill from Castiel’s mug. Castiel followed him with his gaze, noticing his tense shoulders and hands balled up in fists. “Cas, I’m almost entirely sure the feather belongs to the kestrel I told you about so many times. And that means that if the lord isn’t lying about the shifter…”

“...the kestrel is not what you thought it was,” Castiel finished in a quiet voice.

Dean turned to him, his face now flushed with anger. “That’s right. And why would Lord Gordon lie? He could lie just to get into the king’s good graces, but his lie would be revealed sooner or later, when the shifter wasn’t found. Which only means that yes, the bird I spend half my working hours with, the one I train with in my free time, the one I talk with about almost everything… That bird is not a bird at all.”

Castiel willed himself to keep his face as blank as possible. “Is that… Does that make you angry?”

It was a stupid question, of course, because all it took was one look at Dean’s face to see how he felt. But Castiel had no idea what else he could say.

“Of course it does!” Dean plopped back into the chair opposite Castiel and hid his face in his hands. His next words came out muffled. “I’ve known him for months, years even. You know very well, Cas, because I always talk about him. If I ever thought about owning a bird of my own, it would be either him or no bird at all. And now I think about all those days I trained with him, how he sat on my wrist and ate out of my hand, how I let him sit on my shoulder and… and how I, I don’t know, scratched his stupid head and he seemed so comfortable with me…”

Castiel’s heart ached at the distress in Dean’s voice, and he longed to reach out, touch him, make him feel better – but at the same time he wished he could run away and not listen to Dean say anything else. It was too much.

“All this time it wasn’t just a bird. It was someone, it was an actual person, one that I don’t know. And I had no idea. You’re asking if it makes me angry, Cas?” Dean looked up and met Castiel’s eyes. “It makes me furious. The thought of doing all those things with _a stranger_ , and one that doesn’t have the courage to reveal the truth, even after all those years… Yes, I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I’m embarrassed as hell, Cas.”

Something in Castiel’s chest shattered at Dean’s words, but he still reached out and brushed Dean’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be embarrassed—”

Dean pulled his hand with an angry huff. “I know it’s not my fault. How could I have known?”

Castiel nodded. “Exactly. And maybe, just maybe, the shifter, if there even is one, had a reason not to reveal himself…”

“Of course he had a reason,” Dean spat. “He knew that if the king ever discovered who he was, he’d be killed.”

Castiel hid his hands beneath the table so that Dean couldn’t see the way they shook. He didn’t say anything.

“And honestly, right now, I kind of wish they find him,” Dean said.

Castiel stared at him. He opened his mouth but no sound emerged.

If he thought Dean’s previous words made him sad, these were like a vicious cold blade run straight through his heart.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean said with a sigh. He stood up again, grabbed both his and Castiel’s full tea mug, and carried them over to the bucket filled with water. “If you were in my place, you’d feel the same.”

“I… don’t know about that,” Castiel uttered.

“You know I would never want to see any bird harmed in any way,” Dean continued as if he didn’t hear him. “But this is not a bird, Cas. It’s a criminal, a liar, and a coward. Shapeshifters have no place in our country. They’re not _natural_.”

Before he realised what he was doing, Castiel stood up so quickly he sent the chair falling to the ground. Dean glanced at him from where he was washing the mugs, eyes alight with emotions Castiel had never seen him display. 

“You don’t mean that,” Castiel whispered.

Dean put back the mugs and reached for a piece of cloth to wipe his hands. He avoided Castiel’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “A law is a law, Cas. There’s a reason they’re banned.”

“The reason is the king’s bigotry,” Castiel said with feeling. “The reason is the king’s hatred for what he doesn’t understand.”

“None of us understand it!” Dean threw the cloth on the table. “That’s the truth, Cas. If shapeshifters were safe, they would live among us like normal people. But they don’t.”

“Because the king hunts them down like animals!” 

“Well, they are animals, aren’t they?” Dean shrugged, this one gesture of indifference hurting even more than his words.

Castiel shook his head, but couldn’t find the words to speak out loud. It wasn’t just about his secret anymore – they way Dean talked about shapeshifters in general, his hatred and prejudice, were too much for Castiel to handle at the moment. He needed to be far, far away from him now, before he broke down completely.

“I need to go,” was all he said. He didn’t look at Dean, couldn’t look at Dean as he headed towards the door.

“Cas, wait,” Dean called after him. For a split second, Castiel hoped he would say he didn’t mean any of what he had just said, but then Dean asked, “Why do you care so much, anyway?”

Castiel whirled and glared at him. “Because I’m not completely heartless.”

“Cas, don’t you get it? He _lied to me_ , he used me for years, and I was naive enough to fall for that!”

“You have no idea what his motives were,” Castiel said. “You know literally _nothing_ about him, and yet you continue to make hurtful and discriminatory remarks. You’re no better than the king.”

“Cas, just wait for a moment— Cas!”

Dean continued calling after him, but Castiel left the little house, slamming the door behind him, before Dean could see the unshed tears in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

# Chapter 4

For the next few days, Castiel gathered all new information about the king and the shapeshifter through the castle staff. He knew the king continued to grow more and more frustrated as the days passed and the shifter wasn’t discovered. The master librarian, Dumah, with the help of her students, including Sam, was scouring the library in search of anything that could help discover shapeshifter magic – be it a spell, a potion, or any other solution. Cain had confirmed that the feather did not belong to any of the royal raptors; he and Dean were under constant watch, with guards at the tower at all times, on the lookout for any sign of the shifter.

From what Castiel learned, Cain had now determined the feather belonged to a male kestrel falcon, but he had no way of knowing whether he or Dean had mentioned the falcon that had been visiting Dean for long before it all started. 

Castiel hadn’t seen Dean since the day he visited him at his house.

He also took Sir Balthazar’s advice to heart and didn’t risk shifting at all. He missed his wings, the freedom they gave, but the consequences of anyone seeing him now would be far too great for a moment of pleasure.

To take his mind off things, Castiel spent all his waking hours working in the garden. The flowers had never been so cared for, all of them well-watered, flourishing in warm sunshine and under Castiel’s watchful eye. He would spend hours tending to a single rose bud, weeding out irises, watching a fat bumblebee trying to land on a delicate lily petal. When he wanted to be alone, he would send the boys to help Jody with the vegetable garden on the other side of the castle or make them gather herbs for Charlie. In the middle of the day, when even his garden would get crowded, he hid in the greenhouse and worked with new seeds and seedlings. 

At night, he stayed awake a lot, listening to the sounds coming from the outside, low voices of the guards mixed with the usual music of cicadas and owls. He longed for the chill night air between his feathers the most then, but he only turned his face away from the open window, closed his eyes, and ignored the world.

The only time he really interacted with other humans was in the morning, when meeting someone was inevitable if he wanted to snatch something to eat in the kitchen. Even when he only ventured there for a few moments, just to grab a fresh bun and some water, he would always stumble upon someone.

One of those mornings, three days after it had all started, he had just slid an apple into his pocket when someone put a hand on his shoulder. Startled, Castiel whirled around, hands raised.

“Hey, easy! It’s just me,” Sam said with a chuckle.

Castiel let out a quiet sigh. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Where have you been, Cas? I’ve barely seen you recently.” There was concern in Sam’s voice, but Castiel couldn’t help but wince a little. He didn’t want anyone to notice his hiding, didn’t want anyone to become suspicious.

“I could say the same about you,” he replied, deflecting the question.

Sam smiled, but it was a small, sad thing. Castiel noticed how tired he looked, his long hair in a messy bun, dark shadows beneath his eyes. 

“Sam,” he said, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. It’s just that I’m not getting a lot of sleep these days, what with Dumah having us read every ancient book she can dig up.”

“You’re still looking for information about...” he lowered his voice almost unconsciously, “the shapeshifter?”

Sam sent him a funny look, but didn’t comment on his behaviour. “We’re trying to. There’s not much, though, and it’s all very old and outdated. Compared to the past, we barely have any shifter lore left, and out of what we found, nothing worked yet.”

Castiel bit his lip, hoping his anger wouldn’t show on his face. “I can only imagine.”

“And we’re running out of books,” Sam added. “Dumah hasn’t told the king yet, but if I’m being honest… I don’t think we’ll find anything useful.”

“What do you think the king will do then?” Castiel asked quietly. He looked away, towards the open sky visible through the window. He didn’t want to see pity on Sam’s kind face.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I don’t think we should hope he’ll forget the entire thing, do you?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I don’t think we should.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, and Castiel could feel his gaze on the side of his face, but he refused to meet it. Finally, Sam let out a tired sigh.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Castiel glanced at him and hesitated. Then he nodded slowly.

“Have you talked with Dean recently?” Sam asked and Castiel looked down with a huff. “Oh. Alright. I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Not recently, no,” Castiel murmured. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Like I said, I’m staying pretty busy at the library so I don’t have many occasions to talk to him either, but he seems… kind of distant recently. I don’t think he sleeps a lot, and he doesn’t always come home for the night…” Castiel wished Sam would stop talking – he never wanted to hear about Dean’s adventures less than at this moment. But then Sam added, “He told me about his falcon and I know it shook him a little, but do you think that’s why he’s being like this?”

“You should ask him, not me, Sam,” Castiel said shortly.

Sam frowned. “Did something happen? Between you two?”

“Nothing at all,” Castiel said, but he didn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I really should get to work. You should too, I presume.”

Sam didn’t respond immediately, but then he cleared his throat and stepped back. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, Cas. See you around?”

“Yes,” Castiel muttered, turning his back to him. “Have a nice day, Sam.”

As he walked out of the castle and towards the garden, he passed a group of guards walking down the corridor. Since the incident with the shifter three days ago, the number of guards patrolling the castle and the city had increased significantly and Castiel had managed to get used to it by now; these soldiers, however, were dressed for a mission outside of the castle, with heavy armor and weapons strapped to their belts. Castiel followed them with his eyes, but they barely paid him any attention, too much in a hurry to even notice him.

It wasn’t until later that day that he heard another rumour which explained the presence of the soldiers. He was bringing the new seedlings out of the greenhouse, passing them to Jack to get ready for planting, when Kevin rushed towards them, excitement written on his young face.

“What is it, Kevin?” Castiel asked as he stood in the door to the greenhouse, hands on his hips. 

“Did they catch it?” Jack asked, eyes wide. 

Kevin shook his head. “No,” he said, breathing hard. “But they’re hunting down falcons in the woods and bringing them all to the king.”

Castiel felt as if someone punched all the air out of his lungs. “What?” he asked sharply.

Both boys turned to look at him. Kevin blinked, surprised.

“That’s what I’ve heard, at least,” he mumbled.

“What is the king going to do with them?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin said defensively. “I only just heard it from Hael, who saw the soldiers carrying cages with the birds.”

Castiel turned back on his heel and went inside the greenhouse, the door slamming behind him. He could heard Kevin and Jack exchange quiet words, probably confused by his behaviour, but he barely cared. His breathing shallow, he hid his face in his hands and stood like that, motionless, for a long moment, willing his heart to calm down and the tremors of his body to disappear.

He knew now that the king would not rest until he caught the shapeshifter, he wouldn’t even back down from hunting all the falcons he could get his hands on – and all because of Castiel’s stupid, reckless behaviour. The king wasn’t acting reasonable anymore, and that meant only one thing.

Castiel needed to do something before it was too late.

***

Castiel stayed up all night, sitting by his window and watching the trail of soldiers below with cages of various sizes in their hands, all of them with a terrified bird inside. Some of them weren’t even kestrels. Castiel’s heart beat painfully with each new cage, and he strained his ears to hear anything out of the ordinary happening in the castle, but the night was silent except for the hurt cries of the new birds. He had already tried sneaking through the castle and finding out more, but the guards patrolling the halls sent him back to his room. 

He decided he’d had enough waiting before dawn, when the first signs of light appeared in the east. Quietly, he left the room and headed for the kitchen, but on his way there he decided he wouldn’t be able to eat anything anyway, so he turned towards the garden. Before he could reach it, though, he spotted two men standing guard, who would certainly inquire what he was doing there so early. He turned away and let his feet carry him until he realised he reached the falconry tower without really knowing he was going there.

There were no guards there anymore, which made Castiel sigh in relief. For the briefest moment he even considered shifting and flying away, as far as his wings could take him, away from all that was happening. But then he remembered the cages and he sank heavily to the ground right where he stood, in the middle of the training field, with the sky brightening above him with each passing second.

He had no idea what he was even thinking about and how long he was sitting, motionless, staring up at the tower right in front of him. The next thing he knew, someone was stopping beside him and calling out his name, a gentle hand touching his shoulder.

He looked up, dazed, and saw Dean’s face hovering above him.

“Cas? What are you doing here?”

Castiel realised he was shuddering only when Dean crouched down in front of him and put his own jacket around his shoulders.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Dean asked, his quiet voice full of concern.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “For a while.”

“Were you waiting for me?” Dean asked and, without even having to think about it, Castiel realised that yes, he had been waiting for Dean to show up. 

He nodded, and watched as Dean’s face cleared slowly. He reached out and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder again. 

“Cas, what I said that day… You know I didn’t really mean it, don’t you? I was angry and embarrassed, but I’m not that person. You know I’m not that person.”

Castiel looked down, but Dean’s hand touched his face and lifted it gently so that their eyes locked again.

“What’s going on, Cas?” Dean whispered. “I can see something’s wrong.”

“I—” Castiel’s voice shook and he gulped, unable to look away from Dean’s eyes, so full of warmth and understanding. Dean brushed his thumb against Castiel’s cheek, slowly, and something within Castiel shifted into a decision. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Dean’s expression didn’t change. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything. No matter what it is.”

“I will understand if you won’t want to know me afterwards,” Castiel said quietly. 

Dean shook his head with a smile. “Not possible, Cas.”

Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand, the same that was still touching the side of his face. Dean stopped smiling, his eyes widening as he glanced down at their joined hands. 

“This is going to sound absurd but I need you to believe me, Dean,” Castiel whispered as he squeezed Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean said, sounding bewildered, a rosy flush spreading across his face. “Of course I’ll believe you.”

“We should move somewhere more private,” Castiel murmured and stood up, hauling Dean with him by the hand. Dean went willingly even as his cheeks reddened even more, eyes big and bright and staring up into Castiel’s face. Castiel returned the jacket and watched as Dean accepted it and opened his mouth to say something, but then they heard a voice calling out for them.

Castiel let go of Dean’s hand and turned. A guard stood right outside of the training field, and it took Castiel a moment to recognise Benny beneath the armor he was wearing.

“Dean, you have to come to the castle,” Benny said, voice strained.

Dean didn’t move. 

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked.

Benny looked at him, then back at Dean. His face was serious.

“Cain just confessed to being a shapeshifter.”

***

It took them just a few moments to run back to the castle, but a crowd had already gathered in the courtyard, watching the scene unfolding in front of them. Dean dived into the crowd, pushing ruthlessly past people, Castiel following closely behind. Benny stayed outside of the mass, eyes watchful and his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

When Castiel finally saw what was happening, he felt his heart rise to his throat. He heard Dean gasping beside him, but neither of them spoke up. In fact, everyone was silent as the king pointed his sword at Cain’s chest, his eyes furious and his lips thin. The falconer was kneeling on the paved courtyard ground, head hanging low, grey hair covering his face. How long they had been standing like that, Castiel didn’t know, but he could feel King Michael’s anger and confusion even from where he was standing.

“If you are what you say you are,” the king seethed, “why shouldn’t I just kill you right here, right now? What’s stopping me?”

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” Cain said, voice loud and certain. “If that is indeed your decision, I humbly accept it.”

The king let out a long-suffering groan. “Why did you wait so long to confess, Cain?”

“I hoped I could get away with it, my king. But I can see now there’s no point trying.”

“I knew it,” the king sneered, all signs of regret fading from his face as he moved the sword and pointed its tip against Cain’s throat, making him lift his head and look up. “I knew it was you, right from the beginning. I trusted you, I trusted you with my birds, but it was you all along, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord,” Cain said.

“He’s lying,” Dean whispered hotly. Alarmed, Castiel looked at him, noting how his face contorted with barely restrained anger. He wanted to reach out and touch him, to make him feel better, but he was too shocked by what was happening. 

“How do you know that?” he asked, unable to hide the emotions within him from his voice. But Dean didn’t even look at him, just pointed to the rows of cages filled with birds that sat in the far side of the courtyard, guarded by soldiers.

“He’s protecting the birds,” Dean muttered. “The king must have threatened them, and Cain would rather die than see an innocent bird hurt.”

“That’s—” Castiel tried to say that it was noble of him, but they couldn’t be sure without talking to Cain first, and then Dean was stepping up in front of the crowd and facing the king.

Castiel froze.

“Your Majesty,” Dean called and lowered his head stiffly. “Forgive me, but Cain is lying.”

King Michael turned to him, lowering his sword slowly. He frowned when he saw Dean.

“And how do you know that, Dean Winchester?” he asked. They both completely ignored Cain who, still kneeling, started shaking his head at them.

“Because I know who the shifter is and I can assure you, it’s neither Cain nor any of the birds Your Majesty has put in the cages,” Dean said loudly, to the shocked mutterings of the crowd.

Castiel felt his knees buckling down beneath him and he surely would have fallen if not for the strong hand that grabbed his elbow and kept him upright. He looked over his shoulder and saw Balthazar.

Meanwhile, the king walked over to Dean, sword still unsheathed and gleaming in the morning sun. 

“And why should I believe _you_?” he asked. “For all I know, you could just be trying to save your master.”

“Did you ask Cain to shift, then, your majesty?” Dean’s voice was steady. 

The king looked back at Cain. “He refused.”

“That’s because he can’t do it,” Dean answered. “Because he’s not the one you’re looking for, my lord.”

“Who am I looking for, then, boy?” With his heart in his throat, Castiel watched as the king put the tip of his sword against Dean’s broad chest. “Is it you?”

Dean lowered his head. “No, Your Highness. It’s a falcon I know, one that doesn’t belong to anyone but keeps appearing in the tower as we work. I never realised he was a shifter until Lord Gordon showed us the feather. But by then it was too late, the bird never came back and—”

Before Dean could finish, King Michael’s hand landed on Dean’s shoulder and pushed him down to his knees, hard, sword against his neck. Castiel moved almost unconsciously, wanting to rush forward and lay himself before Dean’s body, ready to confess to everything. Balthazar caught him before he could even take one step, though, and hissed into his ear, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You knew,” King Michael growled at Dean, who kneeled, defenseless, before him, shock and fear visible on his face even from when Castiel was standing. “You knew all this time but when I asked you if you did the first day, you denied everything. You both did. What is it? Are you both in it? I should have you killed for treason this very moment!”

“My king,” Cain called, moving towards him on his knees. “Please, don’t hurt him. The boy is lying to help me. I asked him to do so, I swear. He’s innocent. Please, don’t hurt him.”

The king turned his sword back towards the older falconer. “I don’t believe you,” he growled. “I can see your fondness for the boy is making you stupid. You’re covering for him, sacrificing yourself to save him. I will have you both hanged by sunset unless you reveal the truth!”

“Neither of us is the shifter,” Dean said desperately. “You have to believe us. But I can help you look for it…”

“No. That is enough.” The king slid the sword into the sheath hanging by his belt, then turned to the soldiers fidgeting around him, unsure of what to do. “Arrest both of them this instant. They will be put on trial for treason against the king and the kingdom and executed before nightfall. Lord Gordon,” he spoke to the man standing near the cages. Castiel hadn’t even noticed him before. “Take the birds outside the castle walls and kill them all. Bring me their hearts.”

“My lord,” Lord Gordon said with a smirk and bowed.

Castiel didn’t think – he pushed Balthazar away and stepped in front of the crowd, immediately drawing everyone’s attention to him. The king was the last to look at him, and he didn’t even bother to reach for his sword.

“You will do no such thing,” Castiel said.

“What is this?” King Michael asked. He sounded bored, as if the entire scene had managed to tire him already. “Are you going to confess now, too?”

“I am, in fact,” Castiel said.

“Cas,” Dean called. When Castiel looked at him, he noticed his pale face and wide eyes, but saw no understanding written in them. Not yet. 

“Prove it,” the king said.

“Dean and Cain had nothing to do with it,” Castiel said. “No one did. It has been my secret for years.”

King Michael raised a brow, and then gestured for him to hurry up. 

“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean called. “Stop this!”

Castiel met his eyes and sent him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

And then, right in front of King Michael’s doubting eyes and with the entire court watching him, he shifted.


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter 5

It felt so good to soar up into the air again.

It was still early in the morning and the sun was a bright and warm orb far in the east, climbing the sky fast and illuminating the castle’s spires and painting them in magnificent golds and whites. 

Below him, in the courtyard, screams erupted from hundreds of throats.

Castiel hovered in the air above them, looking for the only person that interested him, hoping to gauge his reaction – but before he could find him, something sharp hit him in his side and he was falling.

He heard screeching and only after a moment realised it was his own voice, his wings fluttering wildly as he plummeted to the ground. He managed to slow his fall a bit, but when he finally hit the ground, it still pushed all the air from his lungs and made his entire body scream with pain. Before he could take off again, a heavy net was dropped on him and he crashed to the ground.

Someone grabbed him through the net, a big hand squeezing his small body and folding the net around it so that he had no way of escaping. He tried to scratch the hand with his talons or bite with his beak, but the hand didn’t care for his wriggling and soon he was being pushed into a small cage while the angry, terrified voices rose all around him.

“Don’t let it escape!” he heard the king scream while he threw himself against the wires of the cage, but to no avail. He was small, but not small enough to be able to push himself through them, especially not with his entire body prickling with pain. 

“It’s not going anywhere, Your Majesty.” He heard lord Gordon’s voice close by and when he turned to look, he realised he must have been the one to catch him. He opened his mouth and screeched, but no one paid any attention to him.

“Get the cage into the castle,” the king ordered. “I will take care of it right after I deal with the falconers.”

Castiel’s heart stopped when he heard those words, and then he let out a loud squawk. That was not supposed to happen, he wanted to scream. The king got what he wanted and he could let the falconers go free.

Lord Gordon lifted the cage and paraded with it across the courtyard, going back towards the castle. As they passed, Castiel turned and spotted Dean and his heart broke.

He was still kneeling in the same place he had been before, Cain standing beside him with a comforting hand resting on his shoulder. Castiel looked into Dean’s face and Dean stared back at him, eyes wide and unseeing, his entire face almost white. He didn’t move or say anything as Lord Gordon left the courtyard with the cage clutched in his hand, and soon Dean disappeared from Castiel’s line of sight completely, leaving him alone and frightened and surrounded by metal bars he had no way of escaping.

***

He didn’t know how long he sat at the bottom of the tiny cage, head tucked beneath his wing as if trying to hide from the prying eyes. He wasn’t hurt, fortunately, although his body ached slightly from the fall and Gordon’s roughness. The king took his time returning and it left Castiel worrying about Dean and Cain’s fate. He wished he could turn back human, at least, and pace the small dark room they had put him in, but he couldn’t do it while in the cage. 

All he could do was sit and wait, so sit and wait he did.

When he finally heard someone walk into the room, he carefully lifted his head and peeked out through his feathers. When he saw the king, he almost turned and looked away again, but then he noticed others trailing in after the king, not just guards but also the king’s trusted advisors, Lord Gordon with Balthazar, and even Naomi, the historian.

“I want it dead,” King Michael said as he stopped in front of the cage and stared down at Castiel. 

“I understand, my lord,” Naomi said with a bow and a tired note to her voice, as if the conversation had been going on for some time already. Judging by the look on some of the faces, it probably had. “However, I must ask you for just a little bit of patience. It would be invaluable to—”

“ _You’re_ asking something of _me_?” The king rounded on her. “Should I send you to the gallows as well, historian?”

The words _as well_ ran through Castiel’s mind, his heart racing with anxiety. What if he meant Dean and Cain? What if, while he was imprisoned, the king had sentenced both falconers to death and there was nothing he could do about it?

Barely conscious of what his animal body was doing, he opened his mouth and let out a mournful, terrified cry, his wings flapping uselessly against the bars of the cage. A few heads in the room turned to him, including the king.

“It’s a monster,” he said through gritted teeth, “and it must die.”

“We agree with you, Your Majesty,” one of the advisors, Rachel, said. “However, like Naomi said, it would be wise to spend some time studying it beforehand. The last few days proved how inconsistent and incorrect our shapeshifter lore is.” 

Naomi nodded.

“If I may, Your Highness,” Balthazar spoke up, lowering his head.

“And who are you?”

“Sir Balthazar, my king. I serve under Lord Gordon.”

The lord waved his hand at the knight. “He’s a good man. I vouch for him, Your Majesty.”

Castiel stared at Balthazar, but the knight didn’t pay any attention to him. If he could, Castiel would laugh, hearing Lord Gordon’s praise – he obviously had no idea his trusted soldier was a shapeshifter himself.

At least, unless Balthazar had been lying.

“Speak, then, Sir Balthazar,” the king said.

“In the past, the land I come from had some troubles with the shifters as well. The most important lesson we’ve learned was that they come in packs, like wolves. I hope it isn’t true, but I must voice my fears out loud before it’s too late – it’s possible it didn’t come alone. It may have allies, still lurking somewhere in the castle or in the woods.”

What was Balthazar doing? Dean and Cain might have sacrificed their lives for the imprisoned birds not to be killed and now he was asking the king to continue his search for nonexistent shifters? Castiel screeched angrily, and this time, Balthazar did look at him.

“It can hear us, my lord,” he said, disgust clear in his voice. “It’s probably already scared for its kin.”

The king hummed loudly, then bent down to peer into the cage. Castiel backed away with a beat of his wings. 

“What do you suggest, then, Sir Balthazar?” the king asked, dark eyes piercing. “Seeing as you’re an expert in the matter?”

“We should interrogate it,” Balthazar said. “Wait for it to transform back into human form, then bind it and ask for his plans towards your kingdom.”

“How do we know it _will_ transform?” Lord Gordon asked.

“Oh, it will,” Balthazar said with a cruel smile. “Shifters cannot stay too long in their animal form or else they can never change back again.”

Castiel stared at him, bewildered. He had never heard this or experienced it before, so either Balthazar knew something Castiel didn’t, or he was… bluffing. Castiel couldn’t be sure.

“So we should just wait,” Lord Gordon said doubtfully.

“Yes.” Balthazar came over and peered down at the cage, fingers drumming against the metal bars in a way that made Castiel’s feathers bristle. “We need to take it out of this cage, though, because if it tries to transform like this, it will surely die.”

“Then we put it in a cell and guard it,” the king decided.

Balthazar nodded. “Exactly. And if it doesn’t talk after it transforms – then, we’ll end its miserable life.”

“It’s not life,” the king spat. “It doesn’t deserve to live. But I’m ready to trust you, Sir Balthazar, seeing as you’ve had experience with its kind before.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Balthazar bowed. “I will not fail you.”

“Guards, get the cage down to the cell and guard it. Take Sir Balthazar with you and do whatever he deems necessary. And you,” the king turned to Castiel, “soon you will regret ever stepping a foot in my castle. Go!”

The cage rattled him as Balthazar picked it up, roughly, then bowed to the king and left the room, guards following close behind. There was nothing left for Castiel to do than look around closely, trying to gather any hints as to what happened with Dean and Cain. Unfortunately, soon they were going down the stairs to the dungeons, a place so rarely visited by Castiel that he didn’t recognise anything.

Balthazar stopped in front of an empty cell at the end of the corridor and turned to the guards. “Wait here,” he commanded. “I will open the cage once inside to let the shifter go, but I need you here in case it tries to escape the cell.”

He didn’t wait for the guards to answer, opened the heavy door, and went inside, dragging Castiel’s cage behind. The door slammed shut and Balthazar put the cage on the ground, then bent down to a crouch in front of it and reached for the small wire hatch.

Castiel froze, looking up at the knight and waiting for his next move.

The expression on Balthazar’s face changed suddenly, the cruel smile he was wearing for the king and the guards disappearing, replaced by a determined pull of his lips.

“Listen carefully, we don’t have much time before those buffoons come barging in here,” he whispered and unlocked the cage. Castiel didn’t move, even when Balthazar beckoned him with his hand. “I understand your wariness, but I’m afraid you don’t have any other choice but to trust me. Castiel, I think I might have found a solution to this entire situation, but I will need some more time. I need you to stay in this form until tomorrow, do you understand? Tomorrow morning, you need to shift back and demand to talk to the king. I don’t care what you say, just have him listen to you in front of the court. Lie, if you must. Tell him you have information about other shifters, I don’t care. Just don’t change back too early. And don’t wait too long, the king is already going insane and I doubt he will want to wait that long.”

Castiel let out a quiet, barely there chirp. Balthazar smiled.

“And don’t get killed,” he said. “Come on, now. Flap your pretty wings if you understand.”

Without breaking eye contact with the knight, Castiel beat his wings once.

“And now, scratch my hand,” Balthazar said and offered Castiel his forearm. “Let’s make this believable.”

***

The sun set and rose again, and Castiel stayed in his bird form, perched on hard bedding prepared for human prisoners. He hadn’t received any food throughout the night, but he barely felt any hunger, his thoughts too preoccupied to concentrate on such basic needs.

He wasn’t sure how long exactly he was supposed to wait, just as he wasn’t sure he was even doing the right thing. If Balthazar wasn’t on his side, just pretending, this could end up in disaster. But the knight had been right – he had nothing left to lose, especially not if he was locked up in a prison cell with no news from the world above.

When he finally shifted back, he spent a moment just sitting on the bed, trying to wrap his head around everything that has happened recently. He wondered briefly what had become of the garden – were Kevin, Jack, and Samandriel dealing with his absence? Or maybe they were punished as well, just for knowing him?

He tried not to think of Dean at all, not to imagine what could have happened after he had been imprisoned. The mere idea of Dean being gone was too much to handle at the moment.

He stood up, naked, and went over to the door keeping him inside the cell. With a deep breath that did nothing to calm him, he raised his arm and banged a fist against the heavy metal once, twice, three times. Immediately, he heard a commotion outside and soon the door was opening with a loud screech, three guards standing right outside with their swords bared and pointed at him.

Castiel didn’t move.

“Tell your king I am ready to talk.”

He barely remembered what happened next. He was suddenly being led out of the dungeons, some old threadbare clothes thrown at him, his wrists shackled. People stared at him as the guards led him through the halls, servants, knights, and lords alike, but he didn’t look at anyone – even though it cost him everything not to look around frantically in search of Dean… or at least Balthazar.

They reached the throne room and he was pushed unceremoniously inside, almost tripping on the too-long trousers they had got for him to wear. He was barefoot and felt dirty, but that paled in comparison to the feeling that he was being led to his death.

The large room was filled to the brim with people, all of them looking at him, and at the end of it, on the throne, sat King Michael surrounded by his most trusted advisors and guards. Desperate, Castiel looked around now but there was no sign of Balthazar anywhere. The king must have guessed what he was feeling because he smiled dangerously.

“And to think I once appointed you master gardener,” he mused out loud. “I have never known such treason.”

Lord Gordon, standing beside the throne, leaned forward and spat at Castiel’s feet. Castiel didn’t even flinch, just lifted his head and glared at him.

Suddenly, the door to the right of the throne opened and in walked Queen Amara with her entourage, as well as Naomi, the historian. The king looked at his wife with a grim smile but didn’t say anything as she took her place on a smaller chair next to his. The crowd murmured and swayed, clearly as surprised as Castiel. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw the queen attending anything quite like this. 

King Michael turned back to Castiel with a sneer. “So, shapeshifter. What have you to say to me before I run you through with my sword?”

Castiel stared back at him, gaze unwavering, but inside he could feel panic rising. He had no idea what to say or do and he feared staying silent wouldn’t help matters at all. Why wasn’t Balthazar here, helping him out just as he had promised? Did Castiel shift too early?

“Speak before we make you speak!” Lord Gordon barked.

There was only one thing he could think of. He straightened his back, hoping they would believe in his false confidence.

“Before I tell you anything I need to know one thing,” he said loudly.

The king laughed. “Is this thing giving me an ultimatum?” he asked the court around him. “Lord Gordon, shall we teach it a lesson?”

Castiel took a quick step back as the lord moved towards him with an ugly smile. 

“If you kill me now, it won’t end well for you,” Castiel said. 

“Are you threatening the king?” the lord growled.

“I won’t be the one to do it.” Castiel opened his arms wide, hoping no one could see his hands shaking. “Kill me, and the next shapeshifter that comes won’t even give you a chance to put them in a cage.”

King Michael stood up. “There will be no next shapeshifter,” he hissed. “I will hunt you down, all of you, until there’s no one left.”

Castiel laughed. “Do you really think you can find us? It took you _years_ to discover me and actually, if it weren’t for Lord Gordon, you still would be in the dark about my existence.” Castiel sent a wry smile towards the lord that stood in front of him. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Your Majesty.” Castiel dropped his voice to a theatrical whisper. “There are more of us here than you realise.”

“How dare you talk to your king like that—” Lord Gordon started, but then two things happened at once.

First, the door on the right that the queen had used before opened again and Balthazar walked in, followed by Dumah, Sam, and Dean. Castiel’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of them, and he couldn’t stop the expression of utter relief that must have shown on his face. No one seemed to pay any attention to him, though, because that was when Queen Amara rose to her feet and spoke up.

“Where did you get that ring?”

Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean, who used the commotion to sneak into the crowd with Sam while Balthazar strolled casually towards the throne. Bewildered, he looked down at his hand, at the brass ring on his finger, and then back up at the queen.

“I asked, where did you get it?” 

The king glanced between Castiel and the queen. “What is this about?”

Queen Amara raised a hand and pointed at Castiel. “Give it to me.”

Castiel cradled his hand to his chest. “Your Highness. I don’t understand. I have had this ring all my life—”

“How?” she asked.

Castiel stared up into her face, surprised to see anguish written all over it. “I… My father gave it to me, before he died.”

“Impossible,” she whispered.

“What is this about?” the king asked angrily, but the queen ignored him. Instead, she looked around and, when she noticed Balthazar, she slowly nodded.

The room stayed completely silent as Balthazar came up to the queen, an old wooden chest in his hands. She reached out and opened it delicately, then stared inside. 

“I’ve been approached about this very recently. Informed that there may be something of interest for me happening at the court.” She sent Balthazar a calculating look, then looked back down into the wooden chest. “Years ago, when we were still little, my brother and I received gifts from our father,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. She took something out of the chest and Balthazar stepped back with a bow. When she raised her hand, there was a single brass ring on her finger. “They looked ordinary, but we loved them anyway, for they were the only thing we had of our father when he died.”

Castiel looked down on his own hand, thoughts of his father still strong in his mind, even after all those years. He died before he could see Castiel grow up, but his mother repeated he would be proud of him until the day she herself passed away. Castiel liked to think his father would be happy with what he’d managed to achieve since he arrived to the castle.

“Are you saying the shifter stole it, my queen?” King Michael asked loudly, bringing Castiel back to the reality. “I will have him hanged within a—”

“No,” the queen said. “The ring was lost with my brother, never to be seen again. Until now.”

“Surely this is not the same ring,” Lord Gordon said. “As we know, your brother died many years ago, Your Highness.”

“Yes, he did,” she said, voice soft and eyes never leaving the ring on her finger. “But there is one more detail to this story, unknown even to my father: my brother and I marked the insides of our rings so that even if we lost them, we would always be able to recognise them.” She lifted her head and looked straight at Castiel. “Sir Balthazar, take the boy’s ring and look inside.”

Balthazar walked up to Castiel and offered his hand, palm up. When Castiel looked into Balthazar’s eyes, he saw how bright they were, almost happy, and only hesitated for a moment before taking the ring off his finger and placing it on the knight’s hand. He had a feeling Balthazar really knew what he was doing.

“Tell me, Sir Balthazar,” the queen said. “Tell me if you see a star engraved inside.”

Castiel breathed out loudly, hit with a wave of emotions that he couldn’t name. Without looking at Balthazar’s face, he knew what his answer would be. He knew it, because he had stared at the tiny star many times before.

When Balthazar confirmed the queen’s words, yet another murmur passed through the crowd. Castiel saw the queen walking towards him.

“Your father,” she whispered. “What was your father’s name?”

Castiel didn’t even dare to breathe. “Everyone in the village knew him as Emmanuel,” he said, “but my mother always called him Chuck.”

He watched as the queen closed her eyes as if hit, a long sigh escaping her lips. “Chuck,” she murmured.

“What a bunch of lies!” the king screamed suddenly. Castiel startled; he almost forgot that there was anyone in the room except for him, the queen, and their twin rings. “My queen, you know very well your brother is _dead_.”

“I know he’s gone,” she said, her voice rising. She turned back to the king, still standing by his throne. “His body was never found. What if he survived and we didn’t even realise?”

“And where was he all those years?” The king pointed to Castiel with a sneer. “Are you trying to tell me he survived and never wanted to come back to the castle, choosing to raise some bastard instead?”

“Maybe he had a reason,” Castiel whispered.

The queen turned to him, questions in her sad dark eyes. Castiel met her gaze and felt his heart speed up, the truth slamming into him and almost leaving him breathless. 

“My father was a shapeshifter, just like me,” Castiel said in a voice loud enough that it could be heard even in the farthest corners of the room. He saw tears spring to the queen’s eyes and knew they were both right. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lord Gordon said with a mocking laugh. “You want us to believe Prince Charles was a shapeshifter too? And none of us knew?”

The queen raised his eyes to the king. “I knew it.”

Castiel looked at the king, who looked stricken all of a sudden. “This barely proves—”

“Actually,” a new voice spoke up from within the crowd, “if I may, my lord. I believe my apprentice may have some information on this topic.”

Castiel turned and looked at Dumah, who in turn turned and pointed to Sam, standing right behind her, a book in his hands. His face was pink and his eyes huge, but his voice didn’t falter when he spoke.

“Your Highness,” he said with a barely visible nod of his head, “my queen.” He bowed to her. “For the past few weeks I have been studying this book, which is believed to be the most comprehensive history of the royal family. Of _your_ royal family. It has a chapter dedicated to King Eric, Prince Charles, and you, my queen, and it speaks about everything that has been known and everything that has been mentioned here today: your marriage to the Duke of Blackshire, now our King Michael, the premature death of the Crown Prince Charles, the fact that his body has never been found after the accident in the mountains. There are sources that speculate—”

“I will not hear it,” King Michael interrupted. “Take this man out of here, right now!”

“You’ll want to listen to this, my lord,” Balthazar said with a wide smile. “It has your favourite shapeshifters in it.”

The king spluttered, but before he could say anything, Sam continued loudly, “It’s actually true, Your Majesty. It is said that the gift of shapeshifting used to run in the royal blood for hundreds of years, starting with the founders of our country, but as time passed, it was less and less frequent. To have a father pass down the gift to a child would be counted as a miracle.” Sam’s eyes slid to Castiel for a moment, and he smiled before adding, “It was also said that the royal family’s most usual animal was a bird of prey. Cas, you’re a kestrel falcon. What did your father change into?”

“A goshawk,” Castiel said at the same time as the queen. They looked at each other in silence, Castiel finally understanding the entire truth of the situation: his father had been a crown prince. Queen Amara was his aunt. 

He was a prince – and the heir to the throne.

She must have realised the same because she suddenly turned towards the king and asked, “Did you know about this?”

The king laughed. “Did I know that your brother survived and sired a child in some unnamed village? No, of course not.”

She shook her head, taking a few steps forward. “No. Did you know about shapeshifting running in our blood? Is this why you hate them so much? Is this why you wanted this man killed – because you were afraid he had more right to the throne than you do?”

King Michael’s face reddened. “More right? He is no one, _no one!_ I married you, and then your brother was gone, which made _me_ king! Don’t speak to me about rights!”

“Did you know my brother was a shapeshifter?” the queen asked quietly.

“Yes,” the king seethed. “Yes, I did. He told me himself.”

“Did you kill my brother?” the queen whispered.

The entire room was quiet, everyone staring at the mad smile playing on the king’s face. He straightened up with a long-suffering sigh, raising his hands to the ceiling.

“Turns out I didn’t,” he said and chuckled maniacally, pointing at Castiel.

Castiel wasn’t exactly sure what happened after that. In one moment they were all looking at King Michael, smiling and confident, and in the next, his own soldiers were circling him, weapons at the ready, Queen Amara standing in front of the throne, silent tears falling from her eyes. Then someone grabbed his shoulders from behind and he was being pulled towards the door among the shouts and cries of the crowd.

“Come on,” Dean said, leading him out of the room. “Let’s get out of here.”


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter 6

Dean led him through the empty halls of the castle, his fingers circled around Castiel’s wrist in a familiar way that grounded him in reality despite everything that just happened. They both stayed silent. Castiel stared at the back of Dean’s head and tried to think of a way to explain everything that would make Dean forgive him, but words failed him. At the back of his mind, he kept repeating the phrase “I am a prince,” but it barely registered. What mattered now most for him was the feel of Dean’s warm skin, the cold hard floor beneath his bare feet, and the silence of the castle around them.

To his surprise, Dean led him to Castiel’s own room. Whether it was a conscious decision or his feet just took him there without thinking – Castiel had no idea. He felt too raw to ask, especially when Dean opened his own door for him and let him through, barely meeting his eyes. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel murmured as he passed him. 

Dean shot him a look, nodded tersely, and immediately looked away. He went inside, too, then let the door close with a loud thud.

The quiet of the room pushed against Castiel’s ears. He didn’t know what to do or to say, but being in his own space immediately helped; Dean must have known what he was doing, bringing him here.

With a quiet sigh, Castiel walked up to the open window, looking up at the bright sky. He suddenly wished he could bury himself in bed, hide beneath the covers and stay there until he was ready to face the world again. He turned, with the intention of climbing into his bed, and startled when he saw Dean standing right behind him.

Before he could even open his mouth, Dean stepped forward and caught him in a hug, arms wrapping around Castiel tightly, pulling him close until he could bury his face in Dean’s neck. It felt so much better that whatever the bed could have offered him, and Castiel didn’t hesitate before bringing his arms up and hugging Dean back.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean said, voice strained. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Castiel sniffled and snuggled closer. He heard a surprised huff of laughter that tore out of Dean’s chest, and then there were fingers patting Castiel’s head, gently, almost shyly. 

“I was worried,” Dean continued. “When you stepped out and… I never wanted you to… to take all that risk, Cas, I—”

“I was worried, too,” Castiel said. He pulled away, reluctant, but he needed to see Dean’s face again, to make sure he was really there. Dean’s hands slid down Castiel’s arms, slowly, and then disappeared to hang at his sides instead. “No one told me what happened with you and Cain after they took the cage away. Balthazar visited me, but I couldn’t asking him, not in my…” The words “bird form” died on Castiel’s tongue when he saw the look on Dean’s face and the way he dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. He cleared his throat. “We were fine. The king was too distracted, I think, to really pay any attention to us after what happened.”

Castiel longed to reach out and take hold of Dean’s hand, but he wasn’t sure how Dean would react. The thought of Dean pushing him away was too much to handle. Instead, he walked past him and sat down at the edge of the bed, staring at his bare feet.

“So what really happened?” he asked. “After they took me away? How did the queen know—”

Dean barely moved and didn’t look at Castiel when he answered. “I’m not sure about the queen. All I really know that after you were gone and the king let us go, your knight friend Balthazar showed up at our house.”

“I don’t think he’s my—”

“I don’t know either, but he helped you,” Dean said, still without meeting his gaze. “He must like you or something. I was there when you two talked, you know—”

“He’s a shifter, too,” Castiel interrupted. He hated to think of Dean having any wrong ideas about the nature of his and Sir Balthazar’s relationship.

Dean raised his eyes at him. “He is?” 

Castiel nodded. “I only learned recently. He never showed me, but I’m guessing this is the reason he wanted to help me in the first place. He knew it could have been him.”

Dean laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “The way you think sometimes, Cas, I swear—” Then he seemed to think better about it and he stopped laughing suddenly, averting his eyes yet again. “It barely matters now. Whatever his reasons were, we probably have him to thank for all of this. I mean, we were trying to think of something to do, too, but it was still all too new, too— It all happened so fast, and I—”

“Dean—”

Dean raised a hand to stop him. “As I said, it hardly matters now. I don’t know how he knew where we lived, but he appeared at our door yesterday evening, saying he had a plan. All he needed from us was to tell him all we could about you and your past and he would take care of everything else.”

“My past?”

Dean shot him a look, a wry smile on his lips. “I know. You can imagine I was pretty hesitant at first. It was your history to talk about, not mine, and especially not to a man I barely knew. Now, Sam might tell you a different story, but I politely declined and said we’d find another way ourselves.”

Castiel couldn’t hide a smile at the words. “You got angry.”

“Yes, I got angry,” Dean grumbled. “I didn’t care if he was a knight or a peasant or a king—” Dean huffed, shaking his head. “It was none of his business.”

“But you did tell him, after all?”

“Was there really that much to say?” Dean met his eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You never talked a lot about your life before the castle, Cas.”

“There wasn’t a lot to say,” Castiel replied immediately, “and you know it. I never hid anything from you—”

He realised his mistake a second too late. Dean looked at him, raised his brows, and looked away without saying anything. Castiel stared down at his knees and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You knew everything there was to know about me and my life, everything except for my shapeshifting. You knew were I was from. You knew about my parents. You knew _me_ , Dean.”

“Did I?” Dean’s voice was quieter now, calmer. It was also sad, and it made Castiel’s heart ache. “ _Do I?_ ”

“Dean.” Castiel stood up, stopped in front of Dean, wishing Dean could look into his eyes and see the truth in them. “Of course you do. I’m still me. I’m still just Castiel.”

Dean’s head stayed low. “But you’re not.”

“I wanted to tell you so many times,” Castiel said. “You can’t even imagine. You’re my best friend in the entire world, Dean. There is no one, _no one_ , I trust more than you. If I had to tell one person, it would always be you. But no one knew, and no one could know, not while Michael was king…”

Dean nodded shortly, but still avoided his eyes. “I understand, Cas, I do. It’s… not the best feeling in the world, to know there is such a large part of you I never knew, but I get it. I don’t blame you.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Castiel breathed out, taking one small step closer to Dean. “Yesterday at the tower. It was all too much, knowing what the king was trying to do, and you were the only one I knew I wanted to talk to.”

“Even after what I said? About the shapeshifters?” Dean glanced at him, uncertainty written all over his face. “Now that I know… I just can’t believe I would—”

“Dean, please.” Castiel reached out, his hand closing over Dean’s arm. Dean went quiet. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t matter, you didn’t know.”

“I should have.” Dean looked at Castiel’s fingers around his arm. “If I were a good friend, I would have realised. How did I never realise?”

“I lived with that secret my whole life,” Castiel whispered. “I learned how to hide it well.”

“Still,” Dean said. “I feel as if I failed you.”

“You didn’t. Dean.” Castiel moved his hand, slowly, up Dean’s arm, keeping his attention on Dean’s face. His pained expression didn’t change, even when Castiel brushed his palm against Dean’s cheek. “Can you look at me?”

Dean kept his head lowered. 

“I’m sorry I never told you,” Castiel pleaded. “I understand if you’re angry, but I—”

“It’s not that,” Dean said, voice small. He peeked at Castiel, then immediately looked down again. “I told you I’m not angry.”

“Then what?” Castiel’s hand hovered near Dean’s face but didn’t touch it again. “Do you think I’m angry at _you_? You helped me, Dean, and I don’t know where I would be without—”

“No, it’s…” Dean let out a groan, then stepped away, turning his face towards the window. “I just… Cas, you’re—”

Castiel didn’t move. “I’m what?”

Dean finally, _finally_ , raised his head and fully looked at him. “You’re the heir to the throne, now, Cas. That’s what’s wrong. Well, not wrong, exactly, I’m sorry—”

To Castiel’s utter horror, Dean dropped his head again, an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks. He half expected him to bow down, and he couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if it happened. 

“Dean,” he said, voice harsh. “Stop.”

Dean did. 

But he still didn’t look at him.

Castiel cursed under his breath. “That wasn’t an order. I don’t give out orders, Dean, and especially not to you. I told you I’m still me. The fact of who my father was doesn’t change that.”

“Oh, but it does,” Dean said quietly. 

“Amara is still queen,” Castiel said. “You know me, Dean. I’m not a prince. I’m not going to be a prince.”

“Aren’t you?” Dean rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m quite sure you are.”

“Certainly not now.” It hurt Castiel’s head to even think about it. “Dean, I was as shocked to learn the truth as you were. Even if it’s true and I am the heir, I’m still not sure what I will do about it. I’ve been a no-one my whole life, I can’t change suddenly just because someone said I should. It won’t work like that.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” Dean asked.

“I know as much as you do,” Castiel said with a sigh. “I swear.”

Dean nodded, looking at something right above Castiel’s right shoulder.

“Now,” Castiel said and took a step forward, “can you please just look at me?”

Dean let out a small laugh, a bright colour spreading across his face. He met Castiel’s eyes, then laughed again, awkward, and looked down. “I’m sorry. It feels weird. I don’t… I’m not exactly sure how to behave.”

“Because I’m the heir?” 

“Because… you _are_. You’re the heir and a shapeshifter and I know you’re still _you_ , Cas, I do, but at the same time, you’re not.”

Castiel let out a pained breath. “I am.”

“There’s a whole new side to you I didn’t know,” Dean said.

“I doesn’t change who I am.”

Dean shot him a strange look. “You were the falcon this whole time. You— It’s weird, you know, because right now, I feel like I knew, deep down. I knew there was a reason I liked him so much. I would look at him and feel as if he was more than just a bird I trained with sometimes.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have even let you see me, let alone befriend me. It wasn’t fair—”

“Don’t apologise,” Dean said. “Not for that. It’s just something I have to deal with myself.”

“Of course.” Castiel would let Dean be for as long as he needed, even if it hurt him in turn. “I understand.”

Dean laughed again, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “It’s not everyday you wake up and discover your best friend is not only a shapeshifter, but also a prince.”

It felt so good to hear Dean call him a friend again. “I will not bother you at the tower again, of course. I realise it might be too difficult—”

“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The falcon,” Castiel said. “It wasn’t fair of me to take advantage of our relationship and make you care for the bird.”

“You didn’t _make_ me care for it,” Dean argued. “I’m a falconer, Cas. I’d care for him even if it weren’t you.”

“And now that you know it’s me? I can’t put you in that position.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, his expression pained. “I mean, yes. It could be weird? Not training with you, per se, just… well… you know how I am with him. You must have heard Cain always laughing at me and my favourite pet.” Dean’s face reddened and he met Castiel’s eyes, his own wide and panicked. “Not that I think of you as a pet. I know you’re not a pet.”

“I know you do,” Castiel said with a small smile. 

“It’s just. You’re really affectionate as a bird.”

Castiel could feel his own face flush now. He cleared his throat and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. What I mean is, yes, of course it’s going to be strange now. But I would miss the little fellow if he never showed up again.”

“You would?”

“Yes, you idiot. I would.” Dean laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Uh. I didn’t mean to call you an idiot.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “Why? Because I’m _the heir to the throne_?”

Dean eyed him carefully. “Yes? I can’t go around calling the prince an idiot now, can I?”

“I’m not a prince yet, not officially.”

“But you’re going to be.”

“You can’t treat me differently just because of that,” Castiel argued. “I’m still your friend.”

Dean’s eyes softened. He smiled. “Alright. So what you’re saying is, as your friend, I’m allowed? To call you an idiot?”

“When the situation requires it, then yes, of course.”

“Are you going to make me your most trusted advisor?”

“You already are my most trusted advisor.”

Dean laughed. “That’s good to know. Even if it’s still strange to think about that.”

Castiel stepped closer. “It is. But please believe me when I say it. I meant it when I said you’re the most important person in my life. I’m not sure I can do this without you. I’m certain I don’t _want to_ do this without you.”

Dean stared at him. “Cas—”

“If you’re not comfortable with it, I won’t do it. I’m sure there’s another way. I only learned about my heritage an hour ago, but I’ve known and loved you for years. I need you by my side. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Castiel watched Dean’s face, watched him react to the words. He didn’t plan on telling Dean how he felt, but the words just flew out of him, unprompted, and it felt good. He wanted Dean to know he cared for him, especially after everything that happened. And he didn’t even need Dean to respond – he knew Dean loved him as a friend, and if that was all he could give, Castiel would take it gladly and never push him for more. 

He was getting tired of secrets.

He could see a hint of surprise in Dean’s bright green eyes, his mouth parted slightly as he stared back at him. For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then Castiel slowly took a small step back.

“You’re my friend,” he said, just to make it clear to Dean that he wasn’t expecting anything Dean didn’t want to give. 

Dean’s mouth closed. He cleared his throat and nodded, the tips of his ears getting pink as he looked down again. “Yeah. Of course, Cas. I told you we’re still friends. You being a prince is not going to change that.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean glanced at him, shaking his head. “You don’t need to thank me, you idiot.”

Castiel laughed and was glad to see Dean joined him. He had a feeling there was something Dean wasn’t telling him, something sad and wary in Dean’s eyes, but it could wait. They were both tired, both physically and emotionally, and putting even more pressure on Dean was the last thing Castiel wanted to do now.

The knock on the door interrupted them suddenly, and Castiel frowned, turned to open it. He was surprised to see Bobby on the other side, and even more so when the man lowered his head at him slightly. He was just about to protest, but then Bobby straightened again, looking at Castiel with the same dose of fondness and strictness as always.

“Castiel, you’re wanted in the throne room,” Bobby said. 

“What for?” Dean asked, coming closer to the room.

Bobby glared at him. “What do you think, genius? They only just learned he’s a goddamned prince. I’m guessing there’s a lot to discuss there.”

Dean pouted. “You’re a steward, I thought you’d have more information than this.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this, boy. Better go find Cain and get to work instead of holing up in the future prince’s bedroom.” Dean’s cheeks reddened. “Go now, Castiel, will you?”

“Hey, you can’t order the future prince around like that anymore,” Dean said as they both left the room. 

“No, but I can order _you_ around,” Bobby said and slapped half-heartedly at Dean’s head.

“Hey!”

Castiel laughed quietly, but then Bobby gestured at him to hurry up. Castiel met Dean’s eyes and took a deep breath.

“Go,” Dean said. “And don’t let them make you into something you don’t want to be.”

Castiel smiled, nodded, and walked away towards whatever future awaited him.

***

Castiel missed his garden so much.

It had been three days since the events in the throne room and he was tired of being cooped up in the castle all the time, spending his entire days with the queen, the royal advisors, historians, librarians, priests, lords and ladies of the court, and more people he wasn’t even sure he knew the purpose of. He’d been questioned, tested, and examined in every way imaginable, asked about his past, his parents, his village. He felt as if he shifted more in those three days that he had ever shifted before. Some voiced their concerns and protests loudly, demanded proof Castiel couldn’t give them, some seemed just curious. The queen was there often, too, and she never wavered – the way she looked at Castiel told him more than any test or proof could. 

She believed he was telling the truth and she felt the connection between them just as he did.

But the court needed proof and they wasted no resources to get it. Experts were summoned from the entire kingdom, people from Castiel’s village, some he recognised, some he didn’t. Nothing could be certain yet and everyone knew much more time was needed to discover the entire truth, if it was even possible. It would take time to learn about what really happened with Michael and Prince Charles, considering it was so long ago. 

As for King Michael, he was kept in the royal dungeon, heavily guarded. He proudly admitted he wanted to kill Prince Charles when he had learned about his abilities, but refused to give any more details and stayed silent ever since. Castiel didn’t know how to feel about it. If it weren’t for his failed attempt at murdering Prince Charles, he probably would have never met Castiel’s mother and Castiel would have never been born. It felt strange to admit that, but he had something to thank Michael for.

He’d been given a new chamber, not exactly among the courtiers, but definitely closer to the heart of the castle and much bigger than what he was used to in the household part. As he lay awake at night, the thought of being a prince was starting to get more comfortable and less peculiar, but it still wasn’t something normal. He had spent his entire life being as far from noble as possible and a change like that would take months, even years to accept.

Fortunately, he had time. For now, Queen Amara had the throne and Castiel was assured he wouldn’t be forced to take over until he was ready – unless something was to happen to the queen, of course. He was also informed it was possible for him to step down – to abdicate – and have the queen to be the sole rightful survivor of the royal bloodline. 

The thought of the royal family dying out with Queen Amara, considering she couldn’t have children of her own, was not a pleasant one, which was why Castiel only nodded and didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make that decision just yet.

On the fourth day of sitting inside the castle, listening to the advisors talk about more and more complex things, things that barely even concerned him anymore, he decided he’d had enough. He requested to go out and work in the garden. No one protested, of course, though they did send him incredulous looks and some seemed even slightly disgusted at the idea of a prince staining his royal hands with dirt. Castiel looked at Queen Amara and saw her face clear slowly.

“Go, Castiel,” she said softly. “We’ll call for you when we need you again.”

With a low bow and relief flooding his heart, Castiel left the room and almost ran out of the castle.

He was starting to get more used to how the castle staff reacted to him now. A lot of them had seemed as confused as he was at first, not knowing how to behave around him, but he tried to stay as friendly and open as ever and was glad to notice they responded well. Some started bowing to him and addressing him differently, but fortunately, most of those he knew well didn’t change that much. 

When he entered the greenhouse, all three of his helpers were there, heads bowed as they talked and worked. They heard him walk in and quieted immediately, exchanging terrified looks.

Castiel hated to see them like this, so he immediately walked over and embraced each of them, thanking them for taking care of the garden while he was gone. The boys visibly relaxed after that and even started asking curious questions as they worked side by side, all of their hands equally dirty and their skin clammy from the stuffy air in the greenhouse.

In the late afternoon, when Castiel went out into the garden and breathed in the fresh air, he was smiling so much his face hurt.

“Boys,” he said to Kevin, Jack, and Samandriel, as they filed out of the greenhouse behind him. “Go have something to eat and get some rest. Tomorrow, we’re weeding out the garden.”

The boys groaned, but they were smiling too and when they left, they didn’t bow to him. He barely noticed, just went back to the greenhouse to tidy up.

He was still there when the sun set, too engrossed in checking up on all his plants to notice the time passing. He would have probably kept going if it weren’t for how it was now too dark for him to see well. Humming, he bustled around, cleaning the workspace until he heard someone walk in. He looked up but couldn’t see who it was in the dark.

“Hello?” he called.

“Your Highness,” said a voice Castiel immediately recognised. 

With an exasperated sigh, he threw the shears he was holding to the ground and stormed over to where the person was standing, head bowed low.

“Dean,” he complained. “What did I tell you about treating me like this?”

Dean looked up and Castiel was relieved to see him grinning mischievously. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

Castiel huffed. “Well, please do. It hurts me to see you like this.”

Dean shook his head with a laugh. “Alright, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll be better.”

Castiel wished he could see Dean’s face more clearly. He wanted to suggest leaving the greenhouse when his stomach growled loudly.

They looked at each other for a second and then burst out laughing. Dean reached out, threw his arm over Castiel’s shoulder, and led him out into the garden.

“Good to know princes get hungry, too,” he joked.

Castiel glared at him, but couldn’t argue with that. “I’ve been working all day, I think I forgot to eat.”

“You _forgot_?” Dean made a face. “How do you forget to eat? No, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.”

“Have you eaten?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I knew once you got your hands on the flowers, you’d lose all sense of time. Let’s go find something to eat. Or maybe, considering who you are now, is there a way to have the kitchen send us the best food they have? We could eat here, if you want.”

Castiel raised a brow at him. “We _could_ do that, theoretically, but I try to get my own food. I still have legs, Dean, you know.”

Dean laughed. “You’re going to make a weird prince, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer that, so he ignored the comment. Instead, he said, “I was actually thinking of going to the tavern and having some of that delicious roast we had last time.”

The grin Dean gave him was all the answer he needed.

“I take it back,” Dean said and squeezed his shoulders. “You will be the best prince that ever was.”

***

They ate dinner and were in the middle of emptying their beer cups when the soldiers joined them. The tavern, already filled with people, now became even noisier and more crowded. Castiel knew most of the soldiers, but they were mostly friends of Dean, who seemed to be in his element. Castiel was glad to finally not be in the center of attention, but he could still feel some of the looks they sent him. No one really mentioned him being the prince, but it was like an invisible barrier that hung in between them and distanced him even more from Dean and his friends, especially at the moment. 

After a while, he stopped trying to engage in the numerous loud conversations going on around him and just sat, sipping the beer someone had put in front of him some time ago. Dean was on his third already, his eyes bright and cheeks rosy as he laughed at the story Benny was telling, joked with Gunner, playfully ruffled Aaron’s hair. Castiel was almost done with his drink and about to bid them goodnight when Max joined their table to the loud excited yells of his friends.

“Come on, make room for the kid,” Benny said.

Gunner stood up with a grin. “Here, take my place, I need to take a piss.”

Max slid onto a bench on the other side to Dean, smiling widely and greeting everyone. He shot Castiel a strange look but didn’t say anything, and then looked at Dean and winked.

The soldiers gathered around the table hooted with laughter as Dean nudged Max with his elbow, eyes bashful and face bright red. Castiel, his blood loud in his ears and his chest tight, left the table without anyone noticing and pushed through the crowd to the counter to order more beer. He was taking his first sip and debating going back to Dean and his friends or leaving without saying goodbye when he felt someone’s eyes on him. 

He raised his head and spotted Sir Balthazar waving at him from the table by the door. 

“Hello, my dear friend,” the knight said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. Castiel sat down with a heavy sigh. “What is it? Princely life not treating you right?”

Castiel huffed a laugh. “It’s better than I could have imagined, but I’m still tired.” He had met Balthazar a few times during the last few days and had already thanked him for his part in freeing him. It felt good to have a familiar face near as he sat around the castle and answered thousands of questions, and he was finding he liked Balthazar more and more with each meeting. Lord Gordon had left when King Michael was arrested, but Balthazar decided to stay a few days longer to help out further. He revealed his shapeshifting soon after what happened, and was a source of good advice and information, helping both Dumah and Naomi with gathering the lore. The thought of him leaving was making Castiel particularly sad.

“Something weird happened to me today,” Balthazar said. When Castiel looked up at him, he didn’t look worried, though, just pensive. Castiel relaxed. “Do you know Portia, the chambermaid?”

Castiel nodded. “What about her?”

“Well, believe it or not, she came to me today and revealed herself to be a shapeshifter,” Balthazar said with a smirk. “She’s a wolf, a truly beautiful creature. She said she was hiding her secret all those years but couldn’t do it anymore, not after she saw you and heard about me.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, then.”

“She said there are more,” Balthazar said and sent Castiel a knowing look. “Just like you said to Michael.”

“I was bluffing,” Castiel protested. 

“It turns out you were right.”

Castiel stared down into his beer, pensive. “What does it mean? Do you think it’s possible to bring peace to shifters once again?”

Balthazar patted his shoulder. “Considering Imeria is about to have a shapeshifter on the throne, I’d say it’s more than possible, my dear friend.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m not—”

“Not yet, I know. But you’ll do it, won’t you?” Balthazar’s eyes were searching and clever as a fox as they looked into Castiel’s. “I can see a prince in you, Castiel. A good prince, more importantly. And an even better king.”

“I need to learn so much,” Castiel said quietly. 

“You do. But you’ve got time.” Balthazar emptied out his cup and put it loudly on the table. “Just imagine what you can do for every shapeshifter in the kingdom, now scared of who they are. Can you see it?”

“I can’t do it alone, though,” Castiel said. An idea formed in his head, one that immediately made him smile. “Will you help me, Sir Balthazar? You seem to know so much more about us than I do. You’ve got connections. It would help me so much to know there’s someone like you at the court. Someone with knowledge such as yours, someone people like Portia can go to and get help.”

Balthazar grinned. “Are you telling me to abandon Lord Gordon and stay at your castle? He won’t be too happy about it.”

Castiel sat up straighter, feeling a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “He doesn’t have to be happy. I’m his future king and he’ll do as I say.”

Balthazar threw his head back and laughed, and Castiel joined him. His heart was beating fast in his chest but he smiled, suddenly realising Balthazar really was right. As always.

He was going to do it.

“Hey,” Balthazar said, watching as Castiel drained the last of his beer. “If I am to stay, you need to see who I really am.”

Castiel smiled. “The fox?”

Balthazar arched an eyebrow. “I call her Celine.”

Castiel chuckled as they stood up and left the tavern, Balthazar jokingly opening the door before Castiel and letting him go first with a low bow. Castiel didn’t even feel annoyed at that. It was as if he had been carrying a heavy burden of a decision and once he made up his mind, it disappeared.

He still had a long way ahead of him, but with the help of all his friends and the queen, he knew he could do it. Even if it took years.

Balthazar led him to the back of the tavern, close to the woods, but still not too far to drown out the sounds coming out from the building. He pointed to a wide tree stump and Castiel sat down, watching him eagerly. 

“I’m going to disrobe now,” Balthazar said with a grin. “You can watch, if you want, I _really_ don’t mind.”

Castiel huffed a laugh and then politely turned away. “No, thank you, Sir Balthazar.”

“I would just hate to see my clothes ruined,” Balthazar said with a theatrical sigh. “I love those velvets.”

Castiel smiled to himself and then Balthazar stopped talking. A moment passed and Castiel heard a rustle of leaves and grass. He turned.

In the same place where the knight had stood just a minute ago, now sat a big, slender fox, its fur soft and dark red, eyes golden. It opened its mouth and all but grinned at Castiel, sharp teeth flashing in the dark.

“Oh,” Castiel said with wonder. “You’re beautiful.”

Balthazar trotted up to him, no signs of fear in his movement, and when Castiel bent and reached out his hand, the fox allowed him to pet its red head and fuzzy ears.

“Cas?”

Balthazar startled and disappeared into the woods with a quiet bark. Castiel wanted to follow him but then he saw Dean coming towards him, a confused frown on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked.

Castiel crouched and gathered the clothes left by Balthazar. Without saying anything, he put them neatly on the tree stump. 

“Was that Sir Balthazar?” Dean asked, voice tense.

Castiel looked up at him. “Yes. Did you see him? He’s wonderful.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Not really, no. I thought you went back to the castle. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? You just disappeared.”

Castiel frowned. “I only went to order more beer,” he said. “I met Balthazar, we talked, and then he wanted to show me the fox. Dean, there’s something I need to tell you, something I’ve decided—”

“You could’ve told me you were leaving,” Dean grumbled as if he didn’t hear him.

Castiel raised a brow. “You wouldn’t hear me even if I did.”

“What are you talking about?”

Castiel shook his head with an annoyed huff. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He looked down at Balthazar’s clothes on the stump, then around the quiet woods. “We should go. He may want to come back and change soon.” He looked back at Dean. “You can go back to your friends if you want to.”

Dean stared at him. “They’re not just _my_ friends.” Castiel shrugged. “No, I’m done for today. Let’s go back to the castle.”

“I know the way,” Castiel said. “You don’t have to come with me.”

Dean’s jaw moved and he looked away. “I’m not letting a prince go alone at this time of the night.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t want me to go with you?” Dean asked sharply.

Castiel sighed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I want to,” Dean said, but he didn’t sound like he was telling the truth. 

For a long moment, they walked in silence, the city dark and mostly asleep around them. Castiel wasn’t sure what he did, if anything, to make Dean upset, or maybe something happened back at the tavern with Max. He didn’t know how to ask without prying, so instead he asked, “Did you have fun tonight?”

Dean shot him a calculating look. “Did you?”

“I asked you first.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I had fun. Did you?”

That wasn’t the answer Castiel was looking for. “It was alright. How is Max? I didn’t really get the chance to talk to him.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “He’s fine, I guess. How’s Balthazar?”

Castiel didn’t think there was any point in hiding it. “He’s staying.”

“What?” Dean stopped in the middle of the street, looking at him strangely. “What do you mean he’s staying?”

“He’s staying at the castle,” Castiel said. “I asked him and he agreed. It’ll really help me, to have someone like him around, when I—”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me? Before?” Dean asked. His voice was strangely cold.

Castiel blinked. “No. But it’s connected—”

“Can you tell me tomorrow?” Dean interrupted him again, voice loud. He didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m too tired to have this conversation right now.”

Castiel frowned but nodded. He had thought Dean would support his decision to follow in Amara’s footsteps, but maybe it was something Dean needed more time to deal with. If it wasn’t easy for Castiel, it couldn’t have been easy for Dean, either.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

They spent the rest of the walk to the castle in silence, the empty halls greeting them quietly, the echo of their footsteps following close behind as Dean walked Castiel up the stairs to his new chamber. He hadn’t been here before so Castiel had to guide him, but Dean didn’t say a word until they stopped in front of Castiel’s closed door.

“It’s here,” Castiel said.

“Fancy,” Dean murmured with a shrug. He didn’t seem particularly interested and it made something ache in Castiel’s chest. Maybe he had the wrong idea about Dean’s support in all of this.

“Do you want to come inside? The bed is amazing, you would love it.”

Dean grimaced. “No, thanks. Maybe another time.”

Castiel turned away, trying to hide the hurt he was sure was visible on his face. “Whatever you prefer. Thank you for a nice evening, Dean, and for walking with me.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “Sure.”

“Please be safe on your way back,” Castiel whispered, already facing the door and reaching for the handle. Normally, he would invite Dean to stay the night, but with the way Dean behaved tonight, he wasn’t sure it would be well-received. “Good night, Dean.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Dean said suddenly. “You told me it wasn’t like that between you.”

Castiel slowly turned back to him. “Excuse me?”

Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You and Sir Balthazar. You told me he was your friend, barely a friend, actually. So was there more from the beginning? Or is it just because you’re both shifters?”

Castiel needed a second to gather his confused thoughts. “What are you talking about? Me and Balthazar?”

Dean sent him a wry look. “That’s what you wanted to tell me, isn’t it? He’s even staying at the castle. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you.” He didn’t look happy. “Just wondering what’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Castiel said. “Balthazar is staying at the castle as my friend and advisor. What I wanted to tell you has nothing to do with Balthazar. Well, almost nothing.”

Dean huffed. “What is it then?”

“I made my decision,” Castiel said slowly. “I’m going to train to become a prince. Officially.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, then a shadow passed his face. He closed his mouth without saying anything and bowed low, hiding his expression completely.

Castiel froze. For a split second, he fantasised about slamming the door to his chamber in Dean’s face, cutting their conversation short. He was tired of Dean’s behaviour tonight and now he did the one thing Castiel specifically asked him not to do.

Instead, when Dean straightened, Castiel looked him in the eye and asked calmly, “Why?”

Dean stared back. His face stayed blank, but Castiel could see his eyes pleading him to understand.

“I don’t know, Cas,” he said quietly. “I just… don’t know anymore.”

“I thought you were okay with it,” Castiel whispered. “You teased me, but when I asked you to stand by me as I made my decision, you said you would. Or at least I thought you did.”

“I would, Cas. I support you, you know I do. But it’s… too confusing, it’s too much. I need more time.”

“What’s too much?” Castiel stepped in closer. He reached out to put a hand on Dean’s arm, but changed his mind halfway. “Can we go through it together?”

“I’m trying, Cas, but—”

“I meant what I said, Dean. I need you.”

Dean groaned, turned away, hid his face in his hands. “As what, Cas? You’re going to be a king. I accept that. I support you, you know I do. You said you haven’t changed, but it’s not true, not for me. You’re Cas, but you’re also a shifter and a prince now. I can deal with that. You’re my falcon. It’s strange, but I can deal with that. And we’re friends, and you’re not with Balthazar, and I shouldn’t feel the way I do but it’s hard, alright? So maybe it would be better to start treating you as a prince. I don’t know. Maybe I need more time.”

Castiel stared at him. “Can’t I be your friend and a prince at the same time? Is that what you’re saying?” 

Dean dropped his hands, took a deep breath, then slowly turned to face Castiel again. 

“You’re not my friend,” he said.

Castiel’s heart stopped.

“You’re more than that,” Dean said. His voice was quiet and tired. “You’ve always been more than that. So now you being the falcon makes it weird, but I can work on that. But you being a prince makes it complicated. I can’t be in love with the prince.”

Castiel couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean, but he couldn’t find the words to say either. Dean laughed quietly, looking at his feet.

“There it is, I said it. You know, it’s funny, it didn’t even fully register with me at first, you know. You being a prince seemed like a great idea until I realised I loved you. Until _you_ made me realise it.” When Castiel still didn’t answer, just stared at him, Dean shook his head. “You told me you loved me, that day in your old room, and suddenly I thought, oh, that’s it. That’s the feeling. But you didn’t mean it that way, and now I’m throwing all of this at you, and I’m sorry, this is just… the worst possible—”

“But… but Max,” Castiel stuttered, finally finding his voice again.

Dean looked up at him. “What?”

“Max,” Castiel repeated. “And Benny. And Lisa, the maid. And Cassie. And—”

Dean put up his hand. “Wait. What do they have to do with anything?”

“Well, aren’t you… don’t you like Max?” 

Dean blinked. “Of course I like Max.”

“You slept with him.” Castiel watched as Dean’s face reddened, but he didn’t deny it. “And with a few others. So when I said I loved you, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, knowing you didn’t feel the same way about me. I didn’t want to make it even more complicated for you.”

“Uh.” Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he gestured at the door behind Castiel’s back. “Alright, I think we should actually go inside now.”

Castiel didn’t protest. He opened the door, hands trembling, and all but stumbled inside, immediately turning back to Dean when the door closed behind them. Dean reached out slowly, grabbed Castiel’s arm and tugged him forward, gently.

“ _How_ do you feel about me, Cas?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“I told you,” Castiel said. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips as he reached for Dean and touched his broad chest. “I told you I love you.”

“As a friend,” Dean added. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. “But not only as a friend.”

“And you don’t love Balthazar?”

“No. Do you love Max?”

“Just as a friend,” Dean said, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “Well, he’s also a good kisser, but it’s not love. And it’s been over for a while now.”

Castiel leaned in, letting his eyes close, breathing in Dean’s overwhelming scent so close to him. He felt Dean’s arms come up around him, slow but confident, gentle in the way he wrapped him and pulled him even closer.

“Do you love me?” Castiel whispered.

“It depends,” Dean murmured, his breath ghosting over Castiel’s lips. “You’re a prince now. _May_ I love you, Your Highness?”

Instead of answering, Castiel leaned in, caught Dean’s lips with his, and kissed him. Dean responded eagerly, taking him fully into his arms. He kissed back hungrily and Castiel felt his knees weaken at the sensation of finally being so close.

“Should I take that as a yes?” Dean whispered when they pulled apart.

Castiel opened his eyes and smiled. “Only if you promise not to call me that.”

“Call you what? Your Highness?”

Castiel nodded.

“Of course,” Dean said and grinned. “Whatever you wish, Your Majesty.”

Castiel touched Dean’s face with one hand and leaned in to kiss him again, to kiss the smile off his lips. Dean huffed a laugh and kissed back, lips parting slightly, a warm welcome to Castiel’s tongue. They stumbled back towards the closed door and Castiel pressed against him with his whole body, the other hand coming up and sneaking into Dean’s hair. Dean hummed, grabbed Castiel’s hips, and pulled him in.

“If you kiss me everytime I use your title, we’re going to have a serious problem,” Dean murmured. His nose brushed against Castiel’s cheek, who chuckled.

“We both have a lot of things to learn, it seems,” Castiel said with a smile. “But fortunately, we’ve got time.”


	7. Chapter 7

# Epilogue

_Two months later_

“Hey, Cas, what are those called?”

Castiel looked up from where he was kneeling in front of a flowerbed, hands full of dirt as he dug a hole to put a small heather bush in. He had to shade his eyes against the low autumn sun as he looked for Dean hovering above a patch of orange flowers.

“Chrysanthemums,” he said with a smile. “They just bloomed two days ago.”

“Mhm.” Dean poked a flower and watched it sway for a moment, then looked back at Cas with a grin. “Pretty, but too hard to pronounce. What about this?”

Castiel laughed and went back to the dirt. “That’s just a weed, Dean.”

Dean hummed again, nonplussed. He’d come to the garden some time ago, after he was finished at the tower, and was waiting for Castiel to finish his work. The weather was nice, after days of rain and clouds, so Castiel wanted to do as much as possible in case it didn’t last.

Dean plopped down to the grass beside Castiel, propping his head on Castiel’s shoulder from behind.

“This is pretty,” he said, his warm breath ghosting against Castiel’s ear. “So simple. What is it?”

“Heather. I’m replanting it to make more space for the snowdrops the queen asked for on the north side of the garden.”

“Heather,” Dean repeated. Castiel felt his hands on his back, warm and big as they caressed him lazily. “Nice name.”

“Yes.” Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, who straightened up a bit. “They’re my favourite this time of year. And when you take them inside and dry… Why are you laughing?”

Dean reached out a brushed his fingers against Castiel’s forehead. “You’ve gotten dirt all over your face, silly.” He rubbed at Castiel’s cheek, then swept a thumb over Castiel’s lower lip, slowly. 

Castiel felt himself smile. “Even there?”

“Not anymore,” Dean murmured and leaned in, planting a lingering kiss on his lips. Castiel couldn’t touch him without spreading dirt all over him, so instead he nuzzled against him, wordlessly asking for another kiss. Dean grinned, caught his face between his hands, and kissed the top of his head. “No. Finish your work first so we can get out here.”

Castiel made a face, then turned back to the plants as Dean laughed at him. He let him work afterwards, though, leaning against his back and enjoying the sun. At one point Castiel even thought he heard a tiny snore, but when he chuckled to himself, he felt Dean poke a finger into his side to silence him. When Castiel had to move to reach for another batch of the heathers, Dean spread himself on the ground, hands behind his head, eyes closed, and stayed like that as Castiel worked.

“Do you want to go to the tavern tonight with me and Sam?” Dean asked sleepily.

Castiel patted the ground around the plants to even it out. “I don’t know. I need to get up early tomorrow to meet with Naomi first thing in the morning.”

“Is she making you learn some old poem again?”

Castiel laughed. “It was an old royal hymn but no, not this time. We’ve moved on to the family history.”

“So you’re learning family trees now.”

“Basically, yes.” Castiel brushed his hands against his trousers, admiring his handiwork. “But I like it.”

“Of course you do,” Dean said fondly. He was now propped up on his elbow, looking at the heathers too. “That looks nice.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you.”

He leaned forward, catching Dean’s lips in a kiss. Dean fell back onto the grass with a huff of laughter and let Castiel kiss him until they were both breathless and Dean had grass in his hair. 

“We should move before one of your helper friends catch us again,” Dean gasped with a wide smile.

Castiel brushed a fingertip across Dean’s face, tracing a pattern of light freckles on his cheeks. “They don’t mind,” he murmured.

Dean squinted up at him. “Even if they did, they wouldn’t tell you. _Your Highness._ ”

Castiel frowned and flicked a finger against Dean’s nose. 

“No kiss?” Dean laughed.

“New rule,” Castiel whispered, lips inches from Dean’s lips. “No kissing for an hour for each time you call me that.”

Dean pouted for a moment, then his face scrunched up and he chuckled. “You know, that actually makes sense. It would be hard to explain why I run up to the throne to make out with you every time I’m forced to use your title before the court.”

“That won’t happen for a few more years at least. Amara is still a strong ruler.”

“I’m just saying.” Dean propped himself on his elbows, reaching out for another kiss, but Castiel put a hand on his chest and sat up. “Hey! You actually mean that? An _hour_?”

Castiel shrugged. “Next time you’ll remember.”

Dean glared at him. “You’re really starting to like having power over people, aren’t you.”

Castiel drummed his fingers on Dean’s chest, playful. “It has its advantages.”

Dean fell back down on the grass. He reached out and took Castiel’s hand in his own, his fingers playing with Castiel’s ring. “So, no kissing now, no going out with me and Sam later. What should we do with our free afternoon, then?”

Castiel hummed. “I was thinking of flying. Do you want to go with me?”

Dean’s smile was all the answer he needed.


End file.
